Deception
by stndabvthcrwd1
Summary: The Team of extractors recruit a woman named Devona as their Security for the upcoming job. It's all straight forward...enough. But when the scene of the crime is a person's dreams, it's not only hard to find reality, but the truth as well. EamesOC
1. Introductions

**I am terrified to write this story. After my last story, I had sworn to myself that I would be done writing for a long time. That lasted until July 16th. I've had an idea festering for a few weeks now, but have been too busy or too nervous to act on it. Right now, the story is only about three chapters-worth done, and while I hate posting when the story is still so premature, I'm afraid I'll give up if I don't get some feedback from someone, soon. So here's my attempt at my own story in Christopher Nolan's beautifully intelligent tale of _Inception(_set before the film, by at least a year).**

* * *

The sun was blistering. Literally, blistering. Like the kind of blinding brightness and painful burning that can only be made up for the movies. There was no escape from it, absolutely no way to be comfortable. Every inch of ground for hundreds of miles was sand, sand that slipped into a person's shoes when they weren't noticing and clung to their skin to prevent any moistness from reaching them. There wasn't a tree in sight. Not even a rock. It was all rusty-orange, chokingly-dry sand. There was a haze on the horizon no matter where you looked. In the haze, there might have been a shape. It was hard to tell, caught between the heat and the light. But there really seemed to be a shape. Something slightly darker than the rest of the land, and it wavered the slightest bit from side to side, but going in neither direction. It couldn't have been leaving, so it must be arriving.

"Do you see that?" The woman finally asked, her voice breaking through the painfully hot air.

The man at her side raised his head, brow furrowed and eyes squinting towards the figure. He nodded.

"What is it?"

The man shrugged. "Hard to say."

"You don't know?" She glanced at him. "I thought this was your dream."

"No, you're the dreamer, it's just my subconscious that populates it all."

"Right. So whatever _that_ is, is from your subconscious?"

"Yes. But I don't choose who or what appears in the dream. Not, well, consciously, anyway," the man flashed a small smile, then abruptly grew serious as he looked at the approaching person. "So I don't know what that is."

The woman stared at it for another moment. It was closer, but no more definitive. "And what do you want me to do?"

"Whatever you can think of to quickly and efficiently get rid of who or whatever that might be."

The woman looked at the taller man curiously. "Absolutely anything?"

He offered another small smile, shrugging.

She nodded then, to herself, and focused on the figure, who was suddenly much closer than she had expected. It was a person; a nomad of some sorts on a camel. Fitting, in the desert landscape. The person came closer, and she could make out the loose clothing, the cloth draped over the head to shield them from the sun. Her mind flipped through a dozen different ways to get rid of the target – a pit suddenly opening in the sand, a ridiculously powerful gust of wind sweeping them away, the camel throwing the rider and trampling them to death, perhaps even the rider's clothes spontaneously bursting into flame – but none seemed fitting. As she thought about it again, with the camel and rider close enough for her to see the rider's dark eyes, she found it difficult to picture any of those things happening to the approaching figures. She couldn't just kill them like that, because her recruiter had said so. She couldn't just sweep this person with a name and a life off the map because she was told to-

"What was that?"

The woman turned back to the man beside her, and flushed, the wave of heat nearly suffocating on top of the unbearable temperature of the land around them. "I didn't…I don't know what-"

"Devona, it was simple – just get rid of the target. This is as basic as it gets. And they just walked by. What was the problem?"

She couldn't meet the man's intense gaze and shifted, looking away. "I started thinking… I just, I couldn't kill him. He hadn't done anything to me. He was just walking by."

The man sighed heavily, passing a hand over his dark blonde hair. "Devona, they're _not real_. It was a projection! You know this is a dream, couldn't you have figured that out?"

"I'm sorry, Cobb," she replied quietly, but he was shaking his head.

"We're on a schedule, Devona. I only have so long to train you. And you want to do this, don't you?"

"Yes, absolutely. Of course I do."

"Then you need to learn these projections aren't people. They don't have lives or feelings or anything. Okay?" She nodded, sobered by the man's stern reaction of her mistake. He sighed again, and then spoke softer, "I know how difficult it can be to forget that, Devona. But you just have to do your best."

She nodded again. "Sorry Cobb. It won't happen again."

"Right." He glanced at his watch. "Now time should almost-"

Devona opened her eyes to soft florescent lighting and the delightful sensation of cool air, and found herself laid back in a plain chair.

"-be up." Cobb finished, and smiled slightly at the younger woman, although his eyes stayed stern.

"How'd it go?" A younger, dark-haired man asked, leaning against a table nearby. His young features showed little expression, other than his constant look of passive ease.

Cobb didn't answer, so Devona took it upon herself to speak the embarrassment. "I couldn't do it. Kill the guy, or whatever."

"Couldn't do it?"

She shrugged, further ashamed at the disbelieving tone in the boy's voice. He looked to Cobb instead.

"We need to go again. Different place though, please," he looked directly at Devona and for the first time seemed to be teasing her, "and preferably somewhere a bit more crowded."

"Crowded?" The younger man, Arthur, interjected, "But if that's case, when she starts altering things to work her way, won't-"

"It'll be fine," Cobb interrupted, laying himself down again, "I've got it planned out."

Arthur muttered something about plans, but began readying the dream-inducing machine again anyway. Devona laid herself down as she had before, and allowed the needle to slide into her arm-

Someone bumped into her shoulder, knocking her aside, and was immediately followed by another push from behind. She grunted in surprise and muttered curses, before doing her best to avoid them and find Cobb, wherever he was in the chaos. People were on all sides of her, moving and pushing and speaking in what quickly became a dull roar.

"Cobb?" She called, and was knocked forward again. "Cobb?" Her voice was swallowed by the couple hundred other voices around her. She'd never been particularly tall, but she wasn't short either, and yet it was impossible to see clearly enough to locate the man. With a heavy sigh of aggravation, she pushed through the throng of people surrounding her, searching frantically for her new boss.

She wasn't sure how long she turned and wove and shoved through the aggravatingly thick throng of people until she remembered the most fascinating part of dreaming – she could change things to fit her desires. And with that thought, she stepped past a group of young boys to find an empty trolley track. People walked around the tracks rather than on them, and she quickly claimed the empty space.

Devona walked for a while, constantly looking for Cobb, needing instructions, but he was impossible to find in the crowded street. Was it a holiday or what? Then, fearing they would soon be out of time and she would be scolded again for not completing her task, Devona decided it might be easier to wait for Cobb to find her. She turned to her right, willing a café to appear, and then seated herself at the clean table, a steaming mug of coffee before her. She didn't notice the dark glances thrown her way.

Experimenting with the layout of the dream was something she'd hardly had practice with, and also something she felt would be nice to use in the job her new boss had hired her for. And if this was a dream, there were no boundaries… A large, dark red truck roared past her, whipping her hair, and then slamming into a couple bystanding-projections. One way to get rid of anyone causing problems. A man talking on his phone suddenly found himself electrified straight through by an unnaturally strong current flowing through the earpiece. The passing trolley dropped into a sinkhole that hadn't been there seconds before. Devona had to smile to herself. It was gruesome, but it was fun and effiecent. Plus, if what Cobb said was true, they weren't real anyway. A flash of lightning struck down a woman with her shopping bags, just feet away from a young girl and boy crouching and playing with something on the ground. Devona couldn't see their faces, only the backs of their blonde heads.

"Cobb?" She called again, raising from her seat, and thought she heard a faint reply. Again, she pushed her way through a crowd of people, before finally glimpsing her boss's profile.

"Devona?" he was calling.

"Cobb, here!" He turned her way, and was immediately blocked from sight. A growl of frustration escaped the woman's lips, and she let her imagination take control.

A semi's horn blared as it roared through the crowd. Cobb stood twenty feet away from her, looking a bit alarmed.

"Sorry," Devona apologized as she jogged towards him, "I was getting annoy- hey!" Someone pushed her from behind. "Cobb, what.." She wasn't sure what to ask. Everyone around them was staring at her.

She backed up instinctively, as the crowd stepped closer. A couple of them reached for her, and in a panic, she made the ground fall from beneath their feet. Now it wasn't just a few projections after her – they all were.

"Cobb!" she yelled, turning to him – and finding him taken by the crowd. "Cobb!" Hands grabbed her arms and her shirt, pulling her a hundred ways. Desperate, she tried to beat the crazy mob away, wracking her mind for a more definite defense. She had a baton in her hand now, one like police officers carried. It helped and yet it didn't – the mob seemed even more frenzied. A couple of them had somehow mimicked her baton and she cried out, surprised to feel the pain. Devona knew she needed to defend herself, but the pain startled her and everything was happening so fast, and she was being beaten down to the ground and kicked, and she bleeding and screaming-

"COBB!"

Devona felt her body spasm with her scream, which echoed eerily in the spacious warehouse. Her breathing was desperate and gasping, the sharpness of reality slowly sinking in. She looked around frantically, but took in no other detail than that the mob was gone.

A deep chuckle snapped her to attention.

"The projections get you, then?"

The speaker was unfamiliar. A man, not as immaculately or professionally kempt as Arthur or Cobb, unshaven, slouching casually in his own chair, English. And handsome.

"Y-yeah," Devona answered shakily, pulling her gaze from the man hesitantly. She found Arthur muttering to Cobb at the chair beside her, neither seeming concerned with what had happened. "What the hell was that?" She burst, recollecting the panic and pain. The men conversing turned to her. "Where did you go? What _happened_?"

Arthur and Cobb exchanged a glance. Cobb offered a tiny smile but, as Devona was discovering was usual for him, it didn't reach his eyes. "You changed things in the dream too much. The subconsceince was fighting back."

Devona's brow fell in thought. "But changing things is what you _want_ me to do." Cobb nodded. "So you want me to get…get attacked, get killed by those people?"

"Preferrably not," he replied, with another faux-smile. She glared, frustrated, in return. "So, you're going to have a protection."

"But I _am_ the protection."

"Yes and no. You organize and operate the team's protection, as we carry out our task in the dream. You protect us from angry projections or specially trained defense projections, and so on. _Your_ protection keeps an eye solely on you, so you can protect the rest of us."

"That's a bit…hectic, don't you think?"

Cobb shrugged. "We've never done it before. So we'll see."

"Shall we give it a go then?" The unidentified English man spoke again, beginning to roll up his shirt sleeve.

"Devona, this is Eames. He'll be your protection in the dream."

"Hello, love," Eames flashed a charming grin, showing a front tooth slightly out of line with the rest.

Devona just nodded in return. "So," she turned to Cobb again, "what are we doing this time?"

"Same thing as we've been attempting so far. You just…practice. Once the projections retaliate, as they always do, Eames will be there to keep you alive until the task is completed."

"What task?"

"Right now, there isn't one. We're just seeing how long Eames can keep you alive."

Devona glanced at the rough-looking man seated on the opposite side of her. He gave a mild smile, not showing any teeth this time.

"Don't fret, sweetheart, I'm one of the best." He winked and looked past her. "Arthur, could you be any slower with that thing?"

The younger man threw a glare in the Englishman's direction, then abruptly ignored him and checked the dream-inducer again. "How long?"

"Two hours, just in case," Cobb replied.

Arthur nodded, separating the needles that would be used. "Okay, here goes. Two hours, protection testing."

As the needle slid into her arm for the third time that day, Devona was hardly feeling it anymore.

* * *

They were inside, in a building. Some sort of corporate place it seemed, from the sparkling marble floors, walls made of windows, and perfect, cold lighting. A main desk was to their right, yards from the front doors, and seated at it was a receptionist, doing paperwork. A man and woman talking idly walked past.

"Come along then," Eames' light-hearted accent broke the stillness.

Devona followed the man without a word, taking in her surroundings. Men and women in formal suits walked around, some talking, some carrying briefcases, some casual and others rushing and checking watches. No one noticed them.

"Where's Cobb?" She asked Eames, glancing up at him as he replied.

"Our fearless leader stayed behind, I believe. He and Arthur have some business arrangements to talk over. The dream only needs the two of us anyway," he looked down at her then, smiling.

Devona flushed beneath his look, and turned away. "Where are we going?"

He shrugged. "Nowhere particular. You've got to start things happening first."

"Right," she remembered her assignment for the dream, and began more closely observing the surrounding peoples. "Take the elevator."

"I didn't put an elev- oh," Eames smiled as he spotted the stainless steel double-doors to their left. "That elevator."

They stepped into it, and Devona pressed the button for the third floor. They were taken to the level quickly, and stepped out into a wine-colored, expensively carpeted hallway, complete with vintage wooden furniture and lighting. The Englishman raised his eyebrows.

"Well this is rich."

"I had an aunt with a house that looked a lot like this. It was gorgeous."

"So is this a replica of her house?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"You want to be careful about that, darling. Too much building from memory and…things don't go well."

Devona pretended to study a priceless-looking painting on the wall, trying to calm the ridiculous shiver that went up her spine at the word "darling". "I thought the point of this _was_ for things to go wrong."

Eames thought for a moment, then shrugged again. "Suit yourself then. What next?"

Devona bit her lip, thinking. "I'm not sure."

"How about this – I could really use a beer," the man grinned, flashing those asymmetrical teeth again.

Devona got the hint and smiled nervously. Without saying anything, she opened the door to their left, and stepped inside. In the room they found a bar, with bottles of alcohol shelved behind it and a bartender at the counter. He eyed Devona warily.

"What can I get you two?" he asked automatically.

Eames asked for a scotch, while Devona dismissed the offer. She sat restlessly at the bar beside the Englishman, letting him sip his scotch while her eyes roved over the room. There were a couple other "customers" with them, but they all stared at her.

"Eames…" she whispered, finding herself panicky under their stares, recalling what happened last time.

"Easy love," he murmured, sending another girlish shiver up her spine, "they won't do anything yet."

"When will they?"

"Hmm," he knocked back the last drops of his drink, and played with the empty glass in his palm, "Once you do something to this glass. Ready?"

"What?"

"Now!"

"What- Eames!" He'd simply tossed the glass into the air above their heads, and waited for it to come down on the bar between them, where the glass would shatter into their skin. Devona knew vaguely what he wanted, and frantically threw her first impulsive idea at the glass – and it came down in a shower of raindrops.

Eames laughed, warm and hearty, and shook the water off his head. "Raindrops? That's what came to mind?" Devona shrugged and blushed, suddenly feeling that she should have reacted in a less childish way. "No, that's good. Quick thinking. But I think it's time we go.." The man glanced looked purposefully at the projections seated around the room, all glaring at Devona and rising from their seats.

Devona stared for a moment, transfixed by the reaction of make-believe peoples in one's own mind, before Eames gripped her elbow and pulled her forward. As soon as they moved, so did the projections, launching themselves towards Devona. Once more, hands tore at her clothes and hair, and only with Eames' help did she push her way out the door, back into the hall.

"This way," Eames kept a hold on her, leading her towards the elevator at the end of the hall. He hesitated after a few steps. A large, chocolate brown lab with a graying muzzle stood in front of the elevator doors, it's lips curled to reveal vicious yellowing teeth, it's hackles raised threateningly. "Devona," Eames asked quietly, "what is that?"

She stared for a moment at the dog. "That's…Kips."

"Your aunt's dog?"

"Yeah. But- well, he died over a decade ago."

"Well he's here right now, and I don't think we're going to get downstairs that way anytime soon. We need a different route." He grunted, both hands now latched onto the doorknob of the room they'd just left, where the angry projections fought to tear it open and rip them apart. "Soon, please."

"Right, okay…" she looked around frantically, then shut her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, another door sat half-open across from them. "Here!"

Eames let her run towards it first, then released the doorknob and dashed after her. When he moved, the dog by the elevator snarled and raced towards him, but the distance from it to Eames was too far, while Eames to the door was blessedly short. He rushed inside and slammed that door shut too, sliding a number of different locks home.

* * *

**P.S. I apologize now for any possible - and likely - misconceptions about the rules of dreaming/extracting that I may write.**

**And just a side note - _Devona_ means "protector", while _Eames_ means "wealthy protector". I didn't mean for such similar name meanings, but it's actually beneficial to my plan for the story ;)**


	2. Examination

**Thank you so much everyone for your reviews and support! I really hope this story develops into something you continue to enjoy :)**

**xx**

* * *

Eames turned back to Devona. "Nice touch, the locks. But they'll find a way in. Everyone we come across will be after you now."

"How in the hell did Kips get here?"

The Englishman gave Devona a dry look. "I told you creating from memory was bad. Things slip through."

"But he was such a nice dog-"

"He's part of the subconscious at the moment. And right now, the whole subconscious is very, very nasty." As if to prove his point, a loud thump rattled the door. "Next part of the plan?"

"I don't…" Devona glanced around helplessly, disappointing herself as she realized how bare the room was. They'd just needed somewhere to hide.

"Darling, we haven't got forever, and these things can get creative if the need presents itself." Another loud thump.

Devona reluctantly understood. Creativity. Eames was looking for creativity. She thought for a moment, biting her lip, doing her best to stave off any growing panic, reminding herself it was, quite literally, all in her head. Or Eames' head. Whatever. Creativity…escape…protection…projections…dog…angry dog… "Okay. Back to the hall."

"Are you sure?" Eames raised his brows.

"Not directly to the hall, but that's where the elevator is, right? So we have to get back to the hall."

"Right. Except there's at least ten very angry projections and one even angrier dog out there."

Devona just nodded. "Follow me." The man did so without complaint, letting her take the lead and following her into the adjoining bathroom. She knelt beside the sink, pulling a panel from the wall. Behind it was a dark hole. Whether or not it went anywhere was impossible to tell.

"It'd be quite helpful if we could see something."

"If we can see something, so can any projections that arrive. And if I built it, I know where it goes. Right?"

Eames paused, and then rewarded the trainee with a charming smile. "Very good."

She smiled back, flattered, and quickly ducked into the hole to hide her flushing face. She heard the man following, and tentatively led herself through the small tunnel, until her hands found a wall. A swift kick opened that panel as well, depositing the dreamers into a small, dimly-lit closet.

As they both stood to full height again, Devona noticed nervously how cramped the space was, to the point where she had to flatten herself against the wall not to brush up against the older man. It made breathing difficult, not to mention any straight thinking.

"We should be able to open that door," Devona inclined her head towards the wooden door to her left, "and be right beside the elevator."

"And that charming dog of yours?"

"I'll take care of it."

Eames nodded, trusting her to follow through on her word, and he studied the door. "Whenever you're ready."

Devona stared at the door for a moment, taking a breath, and then turned the handle.

Kips stood not ten feet away, hackles raised and teeth bared exactly as before. Devona was unnerved by how precise the projection of the dog was, even down to the scars on his left shoulder from a dog fight when he was younger. Swallowing nervously, Devona tried to talk to the canine.

"Hey Kipsie, hey boy…easy now, be a good dog-" she dared take a step forward and the dog did likewise, snarling even more viciously. "Kips, no, be a good dog.." Another step from Devona, and the dog burst forward, barking savagely.

Devona barely registered her own surprise before being yanked back into the closet by her arm. Eames had a hold of her, his back against the door that he rapidly shut, and he looked, of all things, tired.

"_That_ was your plan? To talk to the damn thing? It's a projection, Devona, it's not going to listen to you. You are it's enemy. Same goes for any projections of people you know – if you piss off the subconscience, they will come after you without a second thought. Okay?" She nodded, not looking at him, ashamed. "Let's try this again."

He opened the door once more, and abruptly shoved her a few steps into the hall.

"Eames-!" Kips was already barking and stalking forward, yellowing teeth flashing and ready to tear into Devona's leg. She knew what Eames wanted – quick thinking – but panic was fast approaching. As happened before when panic gained control, she let her imagination throw whatever came first at her attacker. In this case, it was a cat.

A large, plump, grey tabby cat, which hissed and spat at Kips before prancing towards an open door further back in the hallway, it's tail raised like a flag. A projection-cat was too much for the projection-dog to resist, and Kips barreled down the hall after the feline, just as he'd done when Devona was younger and the dog was actually alive.

Eames appeared beside her in the hall.

"Is that alright?" She asked, desperate for approval.

He nodded, but didn't say anything, and his expression was not reassuring.

Two sharp cracks split the air, and the rich wooden walls behind the two dreamers splintered in places the size of quarters. Both of their bodies flinched instinctively, the only thing that saved them as another few shots went off. Devona dropped to the ground, while Eames ducked into the doorway he had just come from. More shots splintered more wood, and Devona scrambled behind a small table, originally placed for decoration.

There was a pause in the shots, and footsteps could be heard coming down the hall, shouts exchanged. Devona carefully risked a glance over the top of her barrier, only to snap her head back down as a frenzy of shots, much louder and powerful than the previous ones, sounded. There were yelps and cries from down the hall, and Devona realized the shots had come from across the hall, not down it, where the projections were. She turned to Eames, to find him with his back against the wall, body still, some sort of large automatic assault rifle in his hands, and a grin on his handsome face. She watched, shocked and fascinated, as the man efficiently peeked the muzzle of the weapon around the corner, fired another spurt of bullets, and pulled back to his position. He saw her watching, and gestured for her to cross the hall and join him.

Hesitant as she was, Devona tried to remind herself it was just a dream, and carefully nodded back to him. He twisted again to send fire into the projections gathered in the hall, and give her cover. Devona winced as the shots sounded around her – both from Eames and the considerably less friendly projections – and dashed across the hall to join the man in the doorway.

"Alright darling," he muttered, tense and excited, "now to the elevator. I'll cover you as you run for it, then when you're in, you cover me while I join you. Can you do that?"

"Cover you? How?" Devona asked the question stupidly, knowing exactly what he wanted, but hoping he had a different plan.

"Use your imagination, sweetheart. But word from the wise – something with a trigger usually works best." He glanced around the corner again, and was abruptly forced back with an onslaught of gunfire. "Ready?"

"I-"

"_Go_."

This Englishman certainly was a man of action. He stepped into the hall, gun raised and firing rapidly, and Devona had only a second to breathe before she sprinted towards the elevator. Somehow, she'd forgotten she needed to press a button. Her hand pounded against the 'down' arrow, just as bullets pounded into the building around her.

"Devona!" Eames shouted over the roar of gunfire, "You might want to pull that trigger soon!"

But she didn't have a gun. With a deep breath, she reached a hand into her jacket. It emerged with a small, hand-held automatic, like she'd seen in police shows. Unsure, she raised it towards the few projections left, and fired a couple shots. They went wide, striking wall or ground, but had the desired effect of forcing the attackers to hide.

The elevator chimed, and she rushed in it, hearing Eames launch another round towards the projections. Then he turned and was running towards her, his back to the men with guns as he focused on getting the hell out of the hall. Devona still had her weapon raised, and as she saw one of the projections raise it's gun, she knew what was going to happen. She knew what she needed to do, but couldn't. Not when she saw the man's face like that, furious and frightening, but human. Normal. There was even dust and blood on him, giving him a stronger image of humanity. He pulled his trigger.

Eames stumbled and swore, one shoulder jerking forward upon impact. He fell to a knee, but bared and clenched his teeth as he fought to stand straight again. He turned and fired a couple more shots, but his left arm was bleeding and useless. He stumbled into the elevator with Devona breathlessly, his fist pounding into the button to close the doors. They both flinched as another handful of bullets struck the elevator car, sounding like crashing bells.

"What the hell happened?" The Englishman asked through clenched teeth, blue eyes hard and handsome features a blend of pain and anger.

Devona had never felt more ashamed, more mortified in her life. "I..I don't know. I just..froze."

"And I just got _shot!_" He snapped, grunting as he pressed a hand against the bleeding wound.

"I'm so sorry, Eames," Devona rushed, her entire being a cluster of overwhelming emotions. "I saw his face and I just froze, I couldn't..I couldn't kill him.."

"He was a projection, Devona."

"I know!" She snapped this time, having heard all of this before. "The same thing happened with Cobb. They're just so goddamned _real_ in here!"

The man laughed then, but it was more mocking than comforting. "That would be the point, love."

Would that fuzzy feeling inside her ever stop?

She remained quiet for a moment, staring earnestly at the bleeding, heavily breathing man. She bit her lip, shame so strong she felt as though she could cry. But that wouldn't help anything. "I'm so sorry, Eames. I…I didn't know we could feel pain in the dream."

"No way to learn like the hard way, eh?" He chuckled, then grunted. "Yes, we can feel pain. But if you die, you just wake up. For instance, if I bleed out in the next fifty minutes, I'll just wake up."

"And then I continue in the dream until my time runs out?"

"Not exactly. I'm the dreamer, so once I wake, the dream starts to collapse. Ceilings fall, timbers break, stone crushes, and so on. It'll kill you and wake you too."

"…oh."

"Unless we kick you."

Devona stared at him for a moment. "Kick me?"

Eames smiled slightly, masking his pain. "Not like you're thinking. It-" The elevator shuddered, the lighting flickered, and the man paused his explanation. "We haven't the time right now, I don't think."

Devona eyed the flickering lights warily. "Projections?"

"More than likely."

"With your shoulder, are we-"

She was interrupted suddenly, by the doors of the elevator being wrenched open to reveal a grown number of mutinous projections. Their faces were real, detailed, and terrifying. They rushed in, abruptly separating Devona from the Englishman, and drowning out her scream of surprise and alarm. She saw a couple with knives, a couple with guns, and felt an excruciating explosion of pain-

-she gasped, her chest heaving with the memory of the pain, and firm hands held her down.

"Easy, easy, they're gone, it's over," Cobb's steady voice broke through her terror, while his stern hold forcefully soothed her. "You're awake now, okay?" Pale blue-green eyes studied her intently. "Everything's okay."

She nodded, breathing heavily, but the spasms of fear and surprise were gone.

"How'd it go?" The question was Arthur's, lacking any note of true curiosity.

Eames rolled off the chair, already having pulled the needle out of his arm, and stood with his hands on his hips. "Clearly, we didn't keep ourselves alive the whole two hours. It could've been worse though, I suppose." He said nothing more, but Devona caught the look he exchanged with Cobb. He clearly hadn't said all he was thinking.

Cobb merely nodded in reply and turned back to Devona. "That's all for today, Devona. We've already pushed you further than we probably should have. Go home, get some rest, and meet us back here tomorrow."

"When?"

"Whenever you're ready," he smiled gently, and this time it nearly reached his distant, troubled pale eyes.

She nodded timidly, slowly rising to her feet. She made sure her jacket was snug, found her small purse, and turned towards the exit door. She'd only taken a couple steps however, when she paused and turned back to the three men.

"Cobb?" she asked slowly.

He glanced up, "Yeah?"

Suddenly Devona felt very foolish for not having thought to ask this question sooner. "I don't believe you've told me what I'm actually going to be doing for you guys."

He paused. "You're Security. I told you that. While we perform the extraction, you're there to keep things changing and busy to protect us from the projections."

She kept quiet for a moment, wondering if he'd realize the obvious fact that Eames would be much better Security than she could ever manage. But he said nothing else, and so she nodded obediently. "Right," was all she replied, before offering a weak, distracted smile and heading out.

* * *

Eames watched the woman leave, waiting several seconds after she'd disappeared through the back door, before turning to the Point Man and the Extractor. "She's not bad, but she needs some serious work. There's potential, certainly, but she just doesn't have the experience. Not to mention she gets swayed by the faux-reality of the projections too easily."

"We had similar problems," Cobb agreed, brow furrowed as he thought, "she was hesitant."

"Her hesitation got me shot, in the end," Eames added.

"That would explain your spasm near the end of the dreaming," Arthur commented. Eames made a face in reply.

"It hurt like a bitch."

"You have been shot before, haven't you?"

"Of course I have, Arthur. It's not exactly something you get used to though, is it?" Eames retorted bitterly, glaring at the floor. "Like I said, what she's really lacking is experience. And some creativity. She had her moments, but that's all they were."

"But will she work?"

"For what we need, yes. How much time have we got until The Day? Enough for me to train her?"

"We have sixteen days." Arthur replied professionally, hands in his pockets.

Eames nodded, thinking. "I'm sure I can get somewhere by then. It'll be hard work, but," he shrugged, "Can't say I mind spending some extra time with our new recruit, either," he grinned devilishly.

Arthur glared, while Cobb showed no reaction other than, "Keep it in your pants, Eames, that's all I'm asking."

The Englishman chuckled, but both Arthur and Dominick knew the Forger would behave better than he implied.

"Alright, let's pack up. I think we're all done for the day," Cobb sighed and stood, while Arthur deftly packed away the dream-inducer. "Eames, think about ways to get Devona to be more creative, and help her get used to the projections. She needs a totem."

"Am I the one responsible for her now, or something?" The man slung his suit-jacket over his shoulder casually.

"You're going to be training her, and you're going to be working with her in the dreams. You two will need to get to know - or at least understand - each other. We all know how important trust is in the subconscience," he gazed purposefully at both Eames and Arthur.

The Forger sighed dramatically, "As you wish, Cobb. Tomorrow?"

Cobb nodded, knowing he needn't give a time, "See you then."

Eames grinned in Arthur's direction, "Goodnight, Arthur, dear. Sleep tight." He winked, flashing his teeth, and turning away with a chuckle as the younger, moodier man shot a dark glare in return.


	3. OneonOne

**Again, thank you, those of you that read and favourite/review. It really means a lot to me :) I hope you enjoy this**

**xx**

**

* * *

Training Day: 1**

"Alright, so Cobb wants you to have some training, under my wing," Eames spoke while striding comfortably through the small supermarket, eyeing fresh vegetables casually, "Actually, it was my idea, but only because it's necessary."

Devona wasn't sure if she was flattered or not. "How do we train?"

The man shrugged. "I'm kind of making this up as we go along, honestly," he glanced up and flashed a brief, tight-lipped smile, "but you need to understand what your weaknesses are, first. One: most obviously, is your problem with looking a projection in the face and killing it. Two: you've got great creativity – somewhere. We need to let it out a bit more. Three: you could use a bit more confidence. Mind you, that's a bit of a personal opinion here, but as endearing as this shy-and-innocent-new-recruit thing you have is, gaining some self-confidence will do loads to help your other weaknesses. Do you follow?" He finally stopped walking, turning and looking Devona straight-on.

Under his intense, dark gaze, Devona found her thoughts momentarily scattered. "Yes," she hesitantly replied, and he noticed.

"Don't worry, love, it'll be easy." He assured her gently, losing the professional manner and falling into the casual pattern of speech she was used to hearing. He smiled briefly again. She returned it, nervously.

"So..what do we do?" She asked. "What are we doing right now?"

"Ah, shopping," he replied leisurely, and she then noticed the metal shopping cart to their left, already holding a loaf of bread, carrots, a small bag of potatoes, followed by a couple steaks the Englishman added. "I've been needing to get some things for weeks."

"Oh," was all Devona could find to say, a little disappointed that her first training session was going to be spent walking and talking around a supermarket with the man. Then again, she thought upon studying the Englishman, perhaps she had nothing to complain about.

"Eames, can I ask you something?"

"Hmm?" was his only reply, studying a round of cheese.

"What is it that you do in the team? Cobb seems to be directing the whole thing, Arthur's his right-hand man doing most of the organization, I'm apparently going to be Security…what do you do?"

He looked up again, dark eyes studying her with an alarming intensity and depth. At first Devona didn't think he was going to reply, so sober was his expression, but finally he turned his gaze back to the cheese. "I'm a Forger."

"…Forger?" she prodded when he didn't elaborate. "What does that do in dreams?"

"It's like disguising myself, but better." He tossed the cheese into the cart, and then walked around her to push it towards the check-out. "I become someone else."

"Become them?"

"Not stealing their identity or anythin'. I _am_ them." She apparently showed her confusion, because he smiled mildly, "You'll see."

He sighed then, leaning against the cart as they waited behind an elderly woman that appeared to be willing to spend the rest of her life slowly adding items onto the check-out belt. Eames stared at her with a mixture of his usual carelessness and a touch of annoyance. Even the clerk shifted with impatience.

Devona took the lull in conversation as an opportunity to admire the Englishman, not for the first time. He was dressed more casually than the first time they'd met, now in loose khaki pants and a dark grey, pin-striped t-shirt. Dark gold scruff still graced his jaw, his brown hair was combed loosely forward instead of slicked back, and his dark blue eyes still hid their intelligence behind faux arrogance and smart-ass remarks – remarks that he tossed about with an irresistibly hoarse, accented drawl. His attractiveness was impossible to ignore or dismiss, and she couldn't help but remind herself to remain professional about the circumstances.

Eames was just glancing at his flashy, expensive watch when a crack split the air, causing both himself and Devona to jump. She glanced around wildly, but didn't see anything before someone slammed into her. With a protest, she found herself knocked to the ground as a person ran past her, towards her companion.

"Eames-!" He turned towards her just as the man approaching him swung a fist into his face. The blow caught the Englishman off-guard, knocking him aside a couple steps.

He quickly recovered, regaining balance and swinging his own blow in the same movement, catching the attacker in the gut. He hit the man in the side, then swung a knee up into his stomach. Eames was getting the upper hand, when another dark-clothed man came from behind and pressed something against his neck. From Eames' immediate cease of movement, Devona could only assume it was a knife.

She remained cowered the ground, hardly daring to breathe, and no one seemed to yet notice her. Eames was frozen with the glint of a silver blade against his throat, the thief holding the weapon, the beaten man groaning at his feet, another man shouting at the clerk to open the register, and another man heard yelling at other customers in the background. Four. Each one that she could see was dressed entirely in black, and only the man with the knife showed his face – fair haired, broad and stern, with dark eyes and a scar from the left side of his mouth down to his chin.

Devona was mortified to be witnessing such an event. Never before had something like this happened around her, but since she'd become involved with Eames, Cobb, and Arthur, things had certainly changed. Their world was one she did not understand. But no, she reminded herself, this was just chance. A random robbery at a random store, that she and Eames happened to be unfortunately in at the wrong time. And now he had a knife to his throat.

"Now get down!" The man taking cash from the register seemed to have fulfilled his duty, and leveled a small hand-gun at the clerk. The young man dropped to the floor like a stone. The man with the gun glanced around, satisfied that he had robbed the one working register, and then his gaze fell to Eames. "Get out your wallet," he demanded.

The Englishman's dark blue eyes were hard as steel. He didn't answer, didn't move.

"Do it," warned the knife-wielding man in a dangerous tone, pressing the blade deeper into Eames' skin.

Eames flinched, and slowly moved his hand to his back pocket. Devona wondered briefly if he himself was carrying a weapon, but doubted he was quite that cautious. Indeed, he merely pulled out a small, dark brown wallet, that was quickly snatched away by the register-thief. His controlled blue gaze found Devona, gazing at her meaningfully.

She understood. He wanted her to do something. But what could she do? She didn't have a cellphone on her – hadn't he strictly told her not to bring it during their training? – and any retaliation on her part would only result in her own wallet being taken, or something worse. But his look was not a request, and she could see the faintest line of blood sliding from beneath the knife so snuggly pressed into his throat.

That was all it took. Still terrified, still disbelieving that she was unlucky enough for this to happen, Devona glanced around. They were in a bloody supermarket, and a tiny one – there wasn't exactly anything useful lying around. She looked towards Eames again, expression desperate, and she shook her head slightly. She couldn't help him. He glanced at the ground, and then back up. Then at the ground again. Confused, she followed his look.

A small silver phone lay underneath their shopping cart. His phone – apparently his rule didn't apply to himself – had fallen out of his pocket during the brief scrap with the thief, and now it lay only a few feet from Devona. And he couldn't be giving her a clearer message. She nodded, smiling weakly and briefly, and slowly began to edge forward.

The thief that had been beaten by the Forger was back on his feet by now, but holding his stomach and looking quite uncomfortable. He stood just behind the man with the knife. The register-thief had emptied Eames's wallet, and was now conversing with the shouting-thief in the background. Devona hoped they were all decently distracted. She crawled a couple feet, then slowly reached out towards the phone. Her reach fell short a couple inches and, biting her lip in concentration, she pushed herself forward another few inches. Her hand resting on the floor, that helped move herself forward, slipped, and her shoulder bumped into the cart. The gentle collision of her flesh with the metal sounded like a crash in the scared silence, and her position couldn't have been made more obvious.

Without a word, the bruised, wounded thief stumbled towards her, grabbing her by the wrists and pulling her to her feet. Her screams did nothing but earn a slap across the face.

"Oy!" Eames protested, but was threatened back into silence and stillness by a word from his captor.

Devona's eyes desperately searched his, finding unease in the ocean-blue gaze. She struggled against the rough hold of the thief, but he only chuckled and kept her close with little problem.

"'Ey, Mickey, is it against our code or somethin' to take a hostage?"

The blonde with the knife, apparently Mickey, only glanced at Devona. "We don't 'ave a code, ya dolt. But we don' need a hostage."

"Well I didn't exactly mean _hostage_…" The man holding Devona chuckled, and she trembled, understanding. Apparently, so did Mickey. He grinned.

"Ah, righ'. Don' see why not, then."

"Don't y-" Eames was cut short as Mickey cuffed him from behind, cutting him further with the knife.

"Eames?" Devona found herself whimpering, looking towards him desperately, "Eames!" The man holding her chuckled again, and pulled her towards the exit with him. She twisted and writhed, but it was useless – he was much too large. "Eames!" she screamed desperately, a cold, paralyzing terror flooding her systerm. "Eames!"-

-The familiarity of the cold warehouse was stronger than any slap. Devona remained frozen for a moment, her mind working to register the change in scenery, and then she bolted upright in the chair.

"It was a damned _dream_?" She yelped, turning to Eames. He smiled grimly. "But it..it all felt so real.. Jesus, it was really all a dream?"

"Of course," he replied casually, "that'd be one hell of a situation for real life. Not impossible, I suppose, but the probability of it happening…" He shrugged, then smiled faintly again. "So you were convinced?"

"Obviously."

"Good, good."

She eyed him for a moment. "I'm assuming there was some lesson to this?"

The Englishman nodded. "Never trust reality, no matter how real it seems. When you do something like we do, you have to learn to question everything – even if you are just a temporary hire, such as yourself."

"So…what does that mean? I have to try and run a truck through the middle of every supermarket I'm in, just to see if I'm dreaming?"

Eames cocked an eyebrow, pulling more focus to his lively eyes. "No, although the sarcasm is greatly appreciated – you'll be much more fun than Arthur." He smiled briefly, then continued, "No, this was to show you the importance of a totem."

"Totem?"

In reply, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a red poker chip, holding it up so Devona could see writing around it. Before she could read it, he slipped it back into his pocket.

"That's a totem? Are they all poker chips?"

"No, no. A totem is a small object – pocket-friendly, if you will – that has special meaning to the dreamer. We all have different objects. It needs to be definitive to you, and from whatever special touch it has, you can look at it, feel it, whatever, and know whether or not you're dreaming. Do you get it?"

Devona nodded. "Yeah. Handy idea."

"Cobb's wife thought of it."

This was new. "He has a wife?"

Eames hesitated, but briefly. "Had a wife."

"Divorced?" Eames's look was the answer. "Oh.."

The Englishman stood and stretched, careless as always. "I wouldn't suggest it as a conversation piece for him, just a warning."

"No, of course not."

"Anyway, that was the gist of this lesson. You'll need to get a totem as soon as possible. The sooner you have one, the easier things will be. Okay?"

Devona nodded, having stood now herself and picked up her jacket, understanding the dismissive note in the Forger's voice. "Tomorrow?"

"Yep."

She stared at his back for a moment, as he put away the PASIV, and debated saying anything more – but she didn't want to seem overzealous. Or like a school girl with a crush. "G'night, Eames," she said instead.

"'Night," he replied, not turning around. She walked slowly away, finding her feet reluctant to move. Just one more look, one more word from him for the night… "Devona?"

She hoped she didn't whirl around too quickly. "Yes?"

Eames was gazing at her, handsome features serene, dark eyes gentled. "I'm sorry if the dream scared you. I didn't mean for that."

She flushed slightly. "No, it..it was fine."

"Y'sure?"

"Yeah. I mean, good training, right?"

He smiled slightly, "Right. Have a goodnight, love."

Devona nodded and turned away, flushing again, her stomach swimming.

* * *

**Training Day: 5**

Devona twirled the ring on her right middle finger nervously. It was wider than most feminine rings, silver, with tarnished gold leaves wrapping around it. It had been her sister's before the car accident took her, years ago. There was only one difference in it now – underneath the band, where it hid against her finger, Devona had inscribed the simple word "AWAKE". She thought the totem a clever invention, as with the words in such a discreet place, if someone other than herself created the dream, the words wouldn't be there. So far, it had been working. Now it had become a way to relieve her nerves.

The Forger was standing before her, half-slouched and leisurely as always, and was instructing her on a few weapons he had displayed on the table. She knew she should be listening, but guns were not her thing. Knives were not her thing. She quite simply did not like weapons.

"-hello?"

She re-focused on the Englishman. "Hm?"

He stared at her for a long moment. "…you didn't hear a word I just said, did you?" She flushed. Eames sighed. "Darling, we're running short on time here. You've done beautifully the past week, but this is where it's really going to matter, you understand?"

"Of course. Sorry Eames. I just…don't like weapons."

His full lips quirked in a half-smirk. "I thought you were the head of security at…wherever it is you work."

"I am. But there I just tell people what to do and how to do it. I don't go around shooting and stabbing people." She made a face, causing Eames to chuckle and a girlish dizzy feeling to swim in her stomach.

"Fair enough. And Cobb hired you for that reason, but you'll need to at least know how to handle some of these."

"I can't just pull the trigger?"

"Not if you can't aim. Here, we'll just use the .45 and let you hit some targets, alright?" He offered, his voice light, and Devona knew she was being a little prima donna.

She nodded, standing and taking the gun he handed her. "Sorry."

"It's alright, love. Just be thankful you're only a temporary-hire, otherwise I'd have to insist." He grinned, charming and warm and making Devona feel like a love-sick teenager; there was a part of her, however, that registered the word _temporary_ and found it extremely unpleasant.

"Shall we go and practice, then?" Eames offered, not waiting for her and exiting. She followed, rubbing her palm nervously against the handle of the weapon in her hand.

The Forger led her to another building connected to the one they were previously in, this one nearly the same size, and completely empty save for a couple dummies tattered by bullets.

"Right now, it's simple. Just shoot those," he gestured at the dummies. "Can you do that?"

"Yeah," she responded, more sure than she felt. She shifted the weight of the gun, realizing that when she'd dreamed the glock up in their first training session, she'd had the weight off terribly. It was heavier than it looked. She raised and pointed the weapon, closing one eye. A calloused hand closed over the top of her weapon, lowering it. She looked at Eames in confusion, and found a bemused smirk on his features.

"You weren't kidding," he commented, and took the gun from her. "The safety's on, love. Here, see? You have to turn it off to shoot. And try not to close your eye like that. It might help with aim a little bit, but it throws off your perception of everything else. And you'll need to be good enough to shoot true without taking the time to aim precise anyway. Here, try again," he handed her the gun back.

Devona was flushing, embarrassed – was she ever not, around him? – and aimed again, keeping both eyes open. She pulled the trigger. Her arms jerked a bit, and the bang shocked her ears. Her nerves were on end as the sound rung in the silence, and she tried to see where she'd hit. Eames sauntered towards the dummy, and pressed his fingers against a hole in it's upper left shoulder. He looked back towards her.

"Not too bad. But it wouldn't keep a projection down. They don't feel pain quite like we do." He left the figure, stepping behind her and folding his arms. "Again."

_BANG_

Left arm.

"That won't take a projection down. Again."

_BANG_

Stomach.

"Don't be afraid to make more than one shot. Again."

_BANG. BANG._

Two chest shots.

"That's what I'm lookin' for, good. Again."

_BANG. BANG._

Chest, and shoulder.

"Much better. Now try two opponents – this, and that one over there. Go."

_BANG…BANG. BANG._

Center of chest; shoulder and stomach.

"Three opponents now."

_BANG BANG..BANG…BANG BANG._

Two chest shots; heart; two stomach shots.

"Again!"

They worked like that for over an hour, Eames shouting orders or compliments, the number of opponents increasing and their positions varying, weapons changing – although not greatly – and the Forger working to make her shots more precise and speedier. Devona's hands were stiff and sore, and her trigger finger was bound to have a couple blisters from the constant friction.

Eames noticed as she hissed quietly at the sting resulting from flexing her sore right hand, and smiled slightly, "What's the saying? 'No pain, no gain'?" Devona grunted. "Here, let me see," Before she could say anything, the man had taken her hand in his own, and held it gently, observing the reddened skin.

Devona fought to prevent a tremble, holding her breath, and watching the handsome man study her hand. She again found herself shaken by his attractiveness. His touch was warm and although calloused, gentle.

"I guess this is a sign we're done today, mm?" He looked up then, dark blue eyes playful as always, and a faint smile on his lips. Devona could only nod. "And I won't make you use a gun for a while, promise." He smiled more fully, and she could feel herself flush. Then she glanced at her hand. He was still holding it. He noticed now too. Rather than hastily release her, his touch remained for a moment, lingering, both tempting and bothersome. A tremble slipped through her fingers. The Englishman gazed at their hands, smiling softly as he felt the shiver, and then let her hand drop without a word.

Devona didn't say anything – couldn't say anything – and stumbled back a couple steps before turning and striding towards the exit. He knew, he had to know at this point. He'd felt it, hadn't he? Seen her look, noticed her hand, felt the shiver he evoked from their touch? Realized that he made her feel like a dizzy, love-sick school girl?

"I'll expect you tomorrow, love," he called after her, and she didn't need to see his handsome face to know he flashed a grin.

* * *

**Does Devona's totem make sense? As simple as the idea of one should be, I'm not sure I 100% understand it right, but I'm hoping the way she uses hers makes sense to you readers... Let me know if not, and I'll try to elaborate :) Thanks for reading xx**

**P.S. Just a side note I have to add - I freaking love Tom Hardy**

**3**

**;)**


	4. Preparation

**Update time :) Thank you everyone that has reviewed! Thank you so much. Updates should be coming a little faster soon, now that the business of my life is slowing down a bit, but we'll see. Hope I can deliver!**

**Cheers**

* * *

Training Day: 8

At first, Devona didn't notice him. Or rather, didn't recognize him. The Forger looked like himself save one small change – he had shaved. His pale cheeks were smooth, and lean, and without the gold-brown scruff to accompany them, his lips looked fuller and more tempting than ever. She was staring. She knew it, and from the way that lush, full mouth of his curved into a tantalizing smirk, she knew he noticed. After an eternity, she blinked, and took in more than just his mouth.

The absence of facial hair gave the appearance of taking years and an entire persona away. The Forger looked more boyish, more innocent, his eyes soft and doey, dark hair left to casually lie, as opposed to the professional styling she was accustomed to. It was hard to say which way she preferred.

"Well hello, love," his hoarse drawl sent a shiver up her spine. He was still smirking. She was terrible at hiding attraction, always had been, but this man….it felt like he could see through anything. "This is our last solo date, I'm afraid. Anything you still have questions on?"

"Um," she found it was hard to form a complete sentence while looking at the handsome Englishman, "just one, I think."

"Shoot," he took a sip from a Styrofoam cup of coffee he had with him.

"What is it you're training me for? I know I'm supposed to be Security for your guys' "mission" or whatever, but…what are _you_ guys doing? What's the big picture here, the actual plan?"

"You're asking more than you care to know there, sweetheart – trust me." Eames wore a small smile on those full lips of his, but the ocean blue eyes were unnervingly serious. Troubled, maybe, if the careless Forger could ever be 'troubled'. "But, unlike my charming associate Arthur, I do believe you ought to know something." He flashed a small smile, but the look in his eyes didn't change. "Cobb is an Extractor. He is hired to pertain secrets from people. He steals things in their mind, through dreams. _We_ are all hired by him, because, as he was quick to discover, Extracting is quite difficult alone. Now and again – as in this case – we have to hire others temporarily, like you, but for the same purpose. Do you follow?"

Follow what? The delicate curves of his lips as he spoke? The gestures of his hands as he described his words? The patch of skin – and dark edge of a teasing tattoo - that was more greatly revealed at the top of his chest every time he took a breath? Or the explanation he was attempting to give her?

"Yeah," she breathed.

"And in this instance, our job is to find a man's secrets. I don't mean a secret combination to a secret safe with a secret stash of cash; I mean things he's done that he doesn't want others to know about."

"What makes you so sure you'll find something?"

The handsome man grinned. "Because darling, everyone has a dirty little secret. And no matter how _little_ it is, that's all we need."

"What do you need this..this secret for?"

"The guy that hired Cobb wants it. They're both some big, fancy corporate peoples, and it's a dog-eat-dog world out there, y'know. So Corporate Man A wants us to gain some dirt on Corporate Man B, so A can get rid of B's competition." Eames shrugged, "It's all too backwards and sideways for me to keep up. Or care, for that matter. It's just business, as far as I'm concerned." He took another drink of his coffee, and appeared to be satisfied with his tale.

Devona thought for a moment. "So this is all illegal?"

Eames chuckled. "Did it ever feel legal to you?"

She smiled slightly and shrugged, seeing his point. "Fair enough. So what are we doing today?"

It was Eames's turn to shrug. "Whatever you want, sweetheart. I think you're just about done. Shall we review? Have you got your totem?" Devona nodded, turning the ring on her finger. "Can I see it?" His tone was light, and she smiled.

"No."

"And why not?"

"Because if someone else touches it, they can find out what makes it special to me, and render it useless." She felt like she was at school, reciting a lesson her professor had repeated a dozen times. Only this was school with a very attractive, very charming professor.

"What is the only real – and absolute most important – rule of Extracting?"

"Do not let the Mark know it is a dream."

"Why?"

Devona paused. "Because then everything goes to hell?"

Eames chuckled, flashing his teeth. "That's as solid an answer as any. Okay, just one more thing – what are the ways to wake up?"

"The end of the sleep-cycle on the PASIV, a kick, or…or dying."

"Perfect," Eames pushed off the table he was leaning against, dark eyes locked on to Devona. "This is going to be a short lesson, darling. I've only got one more thing I need you to do." Devona was suddenly very uncomfortable, and it was hard to say if it was the darkly casual note in the Forger's voice, or the stern look in his dark eyes, or perhaps just the fact that he was suddenly so damned close. "I want you," he spoke deliberately slowly and softly, "to shoot me."

Devona stared, and for once, not because she was mesmerized by his physical beauty. He didn't speak for a moment, gazing at her.

"Devona did you hear me?"

"This is a dream, then." It wasn't a question.

He smirked slightly. "You're catching on. Good." He took a step back, giving her room to breathe. "So?"

"No!"

"Dev, sweetheart-"

"I know, you'll just wake up, but…no!"

"Devona, there's a fair chance you'll need to do this in the dream. To me, or anyone. I haven't made you shoot any projections yet – this is why. If you can shoot me, you can shoot anyone."

She tensed. "What do you mean?"

That frustratingly alluring smirk was back. "You know exactly what I mean, darling. This is only logical. So come on, shoot me." He waited. "Devona," he literally placed a handgun in her palm, and even went to the extent of lifting her arm and pointing it at his chest. "Now just pull the trigger."

"Eames, please, I don't-"

"You need to know what it feels like, Devona."

"But I don't want-"

"That doesn't matter right now. I'm not actually going to die, love, remember that. It's just a dream. We'll only wake up. Now pull the trigger. Come on."

"I can't-"

"_Yes_, you can. Come on. One….two…"

"Eames-"

"_Three._"

_BANG._

She did it. Somehow, maybe she flinched or her finger slipped or the Englishman's countdown was just that compelling, whatever, she did it. She pulled the trigger, released the bullet, and watched it collide into the man's chest. His body jerked back from the impact, one foot stumbling a half-step, and then fell to the ground with a dull thud. His wide blue eyes were open and staring blankly across the floor, full lips slightly parted, handsome features frozen.

Devona started shaking, a cold rush of fear running through her veins as she took in the appearance of Eames, the arrogant, charming, Forger – _dead_. She dropped the gun, her eyes never leaving the body laying before her, and took a shaky breath. _Only a dream. Only a dream._ She jumped as a huge crack sounded above her, and as she looked up, she discovered a split in the stone work of the ceiling. More cracks slid down the walls, across the floor, until the sparse furniture around her began falling through the floor. The ground was shaking. Just as Eames had warned her, the dream was collapsing. But suddenly Devona was calm. She merely stood, waiting, as the ceiling fell in chunks and the floor dropped away, until she felt her body start to fall with a rush-

-the room was whole, quiet, and she lay calmly in the chair. She opened her eyes, and they immediately met with the dark, ocean-blue gaze of the Forger. He grinned.

"See? I'm still here."

Devona sat up, comfortable with pulling the PASIV needle out of her arm by herself at this point. "Give me a minute to decide whether or not that's a good thing."

He was still grinning, that unaligned front tooth making him appear more innocent and charming than necessary – or believable. "Aw now, don't be bitter. Trust me, you'll be thankful I had you do that. You'll have no problem with projections now." Devona merely granted him a dark look, before standing and looking firmly away.

Eames studied her for a moment, slowly falling serious. "Something the mat'er?" Devona didn't answer. "Dev? What's wrong?"

"How do you do it, Eames?"

"Do what?"

She turned to him, her blue eyes troubled, brow furrowed in distress. "How do you get used to killing people, even if they are only projections? And how…how do you get used to dying, and then just waking up? Again, and again…"

The Englishman studied her quietly, solemn, for once. He studied her worry and her fear and her doubts, and the endearing way she was always biting her lip. She didn't look at him for a moment, nervous. But when he didn't immediately answer, she finally looked to him desperately. He softened, sympathetic for the innocent woman, finally feeling the first inkling of guilt for what he and Cobb and Arthur were doing. Tentatively, a faint smile quirked the edge of his mouth.

"You don't," he whispered, before dropping his gaze. He debated elaborating, but quickly decided she didn't need that. Instead, he took a quick step forward, until he was only inches from the woman. He could see her tense, practically hear her heartbeat pick up. Still, that gentle smile lingered on his lips. His gentle fingers pressed against her hand reassuringly, and then he turned away, taking with him the touches and the comfort.

"Get some rest, darling," he murmured, and then was gone.

When he'd told her a person didn't get over killing fake-people, or dying repeatedly and waking up repeatedly, it'd been the truth. Not comforting, no, but the truth. And the least he could do was give her a little honesty.

* * *

"How has she been?" Cobb directed the question to the Forger as Arthur adjusted the PASIV.

Eames smirked, a mischievous glint slipping into his dark eyes. "I have yet to get quite _that_ far yet, Dom, but I'm sure she's-"

"Eames," Cobb's tone was hardly a warning, more tired than anything.

The Englishman chuckled purely to himself, before shrugging. "Better. She's so timid, it took a while to really get anywhere. Even now I think she'll still be hesitant to do some things."

"Such as?"

"Such as killing people. Projections, I mean. She'll be alright, but I won't be surprised if she hesitates now and again."

Cobb's brow furrowed as he thought over the Forger's words. "I'd be more comfortable if we could fix that..." He shook his head briefly, "But we have to do it now, and she's necessary. So do you think things will go smoothly?"

Another shrug. "Hard to know for certain."

"I thought knowing people was part of your 'expertise'." Arthur commented from his part of the room, not hiding the sarcasm in his voice.

Eames flashed a winning smile in the younger man's direction, earning himself a glare in return. "And I never argued that. All I'm saying is it's impossible to solidly predict someone. Especially with what we're doing."

"But will things go well enough for what we need?" Cobb asked.

"Yes, that I am sure of."

"You're both clear on the plan, then?" Cobb's pale blue-green eyes surveyed both his companions.

Eames sighed dramatically; Arthur nodded professionally. "Of course."

"I've only been working on this every bloody day for the past week and a half, haven't I?" The Forger complained.

"I just want to be sure."

"Well _I'm_ sure, Dominick. I've been training her under a complete lie for nearly two weeks now. Hours a day, I've spent with her. I've got it down. I know what we're doing."

The Extractor's pale eyes narrowed at the Forger's sharper tone, and his gaze was coldly observant. "Can you handle this?"

Eames's jaw clenched for half a second, and then his half-smirk was back, although his dark eyes didn't carry the usual careless humor. "No worries, Dom. I've got her right where I- we, need her."

Dominick Cobb didn't look thoroughly convinced, his pale eyes still locked on the Englishman. "Good. I want you to play that up."

"Play what up?"

"Whatever game of taunting and charming I'm sure you've been playing with her."

Eames pretended to look offended. "Really, Dom, I can be professional."

Arthur snorted quietly.

"Doesn't matter," Cobb continued, "because I need you to play up that charm you're so fond of."

"You mean you just want me to flirt with her?"

"Whatever you want. Lead her on, that's all I'm asking. Keep your guys' minds focused on the job, but don't hesitate to…well, be yourself."

The smirk and smart-ass comments had vanished. Eames was, again, serious. "Why?" He asked the question carefully, as if he knew he wouldn't like the answer.

"For the same reason we recruited her. As part of the job. To get the information we need, she has to trust you."

"She already trusts me-"

"But it wouldn't hurt if she felt something for you, too. Attraction can blind a person. And that certainly couldn't hurt us."

"Listen, Cobb, I'm pretty sure the girl's got it for me already. Is it necessary for me to encourage it, knowing how this is going to play out?"

"Eames, I never imagined I would hear you complain about getting paid to flirt."

The Englishman shot his dark gaze towards the Point Man. "Bugger off, Arthur."

Again, Cobb tried to regain the peace. "Yes, I think it's necessary, Eames. You said you could handle this."

It seemed as though the Forger finally realized how he was acting. He straightened up, folding his arms and clearing his face of expression. "And I can. Just checking some things."

Cobb nodded slowly, his intelligent gaze studying the other man carefully. "Good. Okay then, Devona should be here soon. Are we ready?"

* * *

When the Security arrived, she found the warehouse slightly less sparse than usual, save for the addition of one person. A man she didn't recognize lay, already unconscious, on one of the chairs. She raised an eyebrow, but didn't yet ask whom he was – her attention was claimed by Arthur and Cobb, standing over several spread sheets of white paper, muttering urgently and angrily. Eames sat in his own, somewhat more comfortable, chair, intently studying a binder and muttering softly to himself. She chose to approach the latter.

"I'm here," she introduced herself softly.

The handsome man looked up – scruffy again, grey slacks and pale green dress shirt on – and offered a small smile, his soft blue eyes seeming tired. "Hello, love. Ready for this?"

She smiled weakly in return. "I think so, actually."

"Good, good."

She cocked her head towards the binder he held; it held a large picture of a mature, graceful woman on one page, the other full of words. "What're you doing?"

"Ah, these are people I may have to Forge for the dream. The picture is so I know what they look like, and then all of this," he pointed at the words, "is just personal information of theirs, and some information regarding their relationship with the Mark."

"You have to study these?"

He shrugged. "Well, I don't have to, but it helps me get it all down." He smiled handsomely. "Even I can be studious when the moment calls for it."

She smiled back, and then looked towards Cobb and Arthur, who were still quietly debating something. "What are they doing over there?"

The Forger glanced towards the other two men, then smirked and looked back at his binder. "Arguing. Arguing about whether or not we need an architect. A perfectly senseless argument at this point, as we're only minutes from going under, but suddenly dear Arthur seems to be having doubts."

"And Cobb doesn't?"

"Cobb never doubts. The man is so bloody sure about everything, it's only Arthur's worrying that keeps him grounded."

"Do you think we need an architect?"

He shrugged. "Doesn't matter now. And we can build just fine."

"Build the dreams, you mean."

He nodded idly. "Generally we hire an architect for it, someone specially trained for that kind of work, you know? Just like you're Security, I'm Forgery, etcetera. Cobb didn't think we needed one for this job, and Arthur is only _now_ worrying about it." He shook his head, muttering, "Pansy."

Devona smiled slightly, unable to be too nervous with the Englishman muttering beside her.

"Hey, Devona," Cobb's voice broke through the air, and she turned towards him. He looked tired, and although he wore a gentle greeting of a smile, it could never fully reach his eyes. "How are you?"

She nodded, "I'm just fine, Cobb. You look tired."

He mouth quirked. "You could say that." He glanced towards Arthur, then back to her. "So I guess there's no reason for delay. You know the plan?"

Devona glanced at Eames. "I think so."

"We've been hired by a Mr. Simcoe to extract some..information from Mr. Campos over there," Cobb gestured to the unfamiliar unconscious man lying in the chair, "that will be sufficient enough for Mr. Simcoe to eliminate Mr. Campos as competition. Not that it matters what he does with the information, we simply are meant to get it for him. I assume Eames has covered how we Extract?"

"Yes, very thoroughly."

Something flashed in Cobb's gaze, this faint look of uneasiness, but it was gone before it could have meant anything. "Good. Then I guess we get started. Arthur?"

"On it," the younger man carried the PASIV towards the clustered chairs, as Cobb and Devona seated themselves, and Eames set his binder aside.

"We're going down two levels, remember," Cobb reminded them all once more as they each allowed Arthur to slide the needle into their forearms. "Eames, Devona, you two will stay together. Ready?" They all nodded, Devona's stomach swimming with anxious fear and excitement. Cobb then nodded to Arthur, who pressed the center button of the PASIV. Devona glimpsed his knees buckling as the drug slipped into his system, before it took over her own.

* * *

**Brownie points to anyone that gets the reference of Mr. Simcoe and Mr. Campos ;) haha**


	5. Places, Everyone

**Hope this continues to entertain :)**

**Cheers**

* * *

It was a dinner party. A wealthy one, with rich, cream-colored furniture, warm lighting, plenty of champagne, and plenty of attractive men and women in expensive suits and dresses. As it was Arthur's dream, such a setting wasn't very surprising. Cobb wore a simple black and white tux, Arthur one of his usual classy three-piece suits, and Eames, as always, maintained a bit of his care-free persona in nice charcoal slacks and suit-coat, but with the coat unbuttoned, showing off his slightly rumpled ocean-blue dress shirt with the silver-edged collar. Arthur didn't seem pleased with the Forger's less-than-immaculate appearance.

Somewhat hesitantly, Devona looked down at herself, wondering how her subconscious personality would interpret her clothing. She wore a soft, cream-colored dress, the color neutral enough to hardly be note-worthy, knee-length with half-sleeves that stopped before her elbow. The neckline was modest, the fit comfortably snug. Inconspicuous.

"There's our man," Cobb spoke first, blue-green eyes already locked on a figure in the crowd. Devona followed his gaze to see the man from the warehouse, the one that had already been sedated, chatting with a handful of admiring projections. He was in his late forties, with short-cropped, dark blonde hair, and from the way the projections hung around him, this appeared to be "his" party – ignoring the fact it was Arthur's dream. "I'm going to go see what I can get from chatting with him. Arthur, talk with some projections, see if they know anything. There's a chance they've been created with pieces of his conscience – and therefore, his information – as part of them. They might be able to tell you something."

Arthur nodded, "Got it," and then slipped away to talk to a male projection that had just left the group around the Mark.

Cobb turned to his other two companions, "Devona-"

"I've got her," Eames cut in, placing a hand casually on her elbow, "We'll look around."

Cobb nodded. "Remember Eames, we're building for the next level. So try to be as unnoticed as possible, okay?"

The Forger grinned carelessly. "We can handle this, Dom."

The older man nodded, already looking towards the Mark again. "Good. We've got about an hour. Before then, meet Arthur and I just outside the doors, okay?"

Eames rolled his eyes, beginning to turn away. "We know, Dominick. Come Dev, darling, let's see what we can sniff out." He didn't hang around to hear anymore of the Extractor's needless lecturing, gently pulling Devona along with him.

Dom Cobb watched them go for only a moment, trusting Eames as much as he could, and then sauntered over to the Mark with a casual smile.

The Forger didn't waste time getting to work on whatever task he and Devona were meant for. He did happen to snag a glass of champagne, but advised Devona to do the same – it would make them all the more inconspicuous. She did as told. He led her out of the chatting crowd, to a hallway at the back of the room. Now and again a person passed them by, but none took notice of them.

"What is it we're doing, Eames?" Devona muttered as a projection passed them, "Everyone seems to know what's going on but me."

The Englishman glanced down at the woman, catching the note of frustration and confusion. She wasn't so placate any more. "We're looking for somewhere the Mark might be keeping his secrets."

"I thought Cobb said the projections held the secrets?"

"Cobb said they _might_. And even if they do, it'll be too fragmented. Enough to give us ideas, point us in the right direction, but not enough to be solid ground. We need papers, letters, notes, pictures, evidence."

"And where are we supposed to find that?

The man shrugged, glancing into a nearby room with an open door. "Where would you keep your secrets?"

Devona thought for a moment, watching the man step into the room, following him, and watching as he opened drawers and closets, searching for anything useful. "In my own mind, I suppose."

But Eames was shaking his head. "That doesn't do us any good. Think – if you had a letter from the lover of some affair, or documents proving you forged a transfer of cash, or _something_, where would you put it?"

"I don't-"

"You were head of security for your last employer, right? You must've had to help hide things." He ceased his search of the room, swearing under his breath, and striding back into the hallway.

"Well, yeah…" Devona trailed off, thinking. Her employer had trusted her with everything – that's what seven years of service and family friendships did for a person. She'd known secrets like the ones Cobb and his team were looking for. And she'd known where he kept them – somewhere simple, but effective. "A safe," she finally said, "we should look for a safe. That's easiest. Behind a painting or under a desk."

Eames's dark blue eyes were studying her. "Where?"

She shrugged, somewhat nervously. "In his office, I suppose. Or somewhere special to him."

"I've been looking for the Mark's office, actually," the Forger turned away again, resuming his search through doors, "Arthur said he would include it in the layout… Ah, here." He slipped through the door he'd just opened, Devona following.

It was a large room, spacious and yet cold, professional. A couple tall plants, one large painting, a complex cabinet against the wall, two chairs angled towards a large, dark desk, behind which sat a large comfortable chair, and another painting. The only indication that this was the room they searched for was the brass plate on the front of the desk, naming their Mark.

Eames shut the door behind them, locking it. "I'll check the painting behind the desk, you look around the desk itself."

"But we don't know the combination."

"We'll worry about that when we find the safe, now won't we?" He flashed a smile, and then gently lifted the painting. He made a face. "Nothing."

Devona knelt down – carefully, in the dress – and opened the drawers, only finding papers and random desk items. She pushed aside the plush chair, and carefully traced her hand around the cavern that it had occupied. She smiled grimly as her fingers brushed a small notch in the wood of the back left, well hidden from sight. "I think I've found it," she muttered, and the Forger's eyes lit up.

"Brilliant, darling."

Her fingers fumbled for a moment, and then she found the notch again. She hooked her pointer and middle fingers into the small handle, and was just pulling it open when a sound came at the door. Someone was twisting the handle, and finding it locked. Her fingers slipped again. The person at the door was persistent, obviously not pleased to discover it locked.

"Eames-"

"Get up," he whispered, pulling her away from the newly-discovered safe.

"What do we say-?" She looked towards the door again, adrenaline chilling her blood as she heard the jingle of keys. "We can't get out-"

"Go with it, Dev," the Englishman breathed, pulling her towards him.

"What-"

She didn't get to ask her question, as the man's lips crashed against hers. A yelp of surprise was stifled between their mouths, and she vaguely registered the door opening as Eames dropped into the expensive chair, pulling her onto his lap as he did so. Dazed, she gripped his suit, whether purely for something to hold on to or out of sexual drive, she didn't know. Whatever it was, the Forger knew what he was doing, playing out the scene with soft, convincing moans and rough hands gripping her hips. His full lips controlled the kiss Devona was bewildered by, claiming her mouth vigorously enough that she was surprised tongue wasn't included. Apparently he wasn't going to go _that_ far. Either way, the show had the desired effect – vaguely, behind the sounds of her and Eames's heavy breathing, she heard a weak cough.

Actor that he was, Eames finally broke the kiss, bewilderment claiming his handsome face – a handsome face that was alarmingly close to her own, so close she could see his eyelashes – and he stared, wide-eyed, at the two men standing in the doorway.

"Oh shit," he muttered.

One of the men smiled grimly. "I'm afraid you two can't be in here. Off-limits."

"Right, of course," Eames nervously pushed Devona off his lap and stood, fumbling with a belt that wasn't even undone. "Sorry, sirs, we didn't mean… It was just so crowded in the party, y'know," he smiled sheepishly, but neither of the projections appeared amused.

Devona decided to add to the scene. "I told you, honey," she pretended to mutter to him, loud enough for the room to hear, "we should've tried one of the closets."

"Well you always know best, darling," the Englishman followed her lead with the faintest smirk.

"Do you two mind?" The other projection asked, gesturing towards the door. "Back to the party, please. We don't want to have to make you leave."

"No, of course not," Eames agreed, placing a hand on the small of Devona's back and gently urging her towards the door. "Come on, love. Let's find Arthur." He flashed another grin at the projections, before slipping back into the hall with Devona.

She turned to speak to him as soon as they left the room, outraged and uneasy after their scene in the office, but the Forger's expression did not encourage conversation. "Shh," he whispered, looking ahead and walking casually back towards the dinner party, "they'll follow us."

"Why would-" Devona caught a glimpse of the two projections in the reflection of an office window they passed. They were following her and Forger, keeping a fair distance behind. "Eames…"

"They showed up in that room because they knew what we were looking for. The Mark's got his own security. To be expected of course, but bloody inconvenient…" the man muttered, looking around the room, "We need to get out of here. Do you see Arthur or Cobb?"

"Uhm….there," she pointed towards the bar, where both men stood and talked quietly.

The Forger turned towards them, taking long strides. "Cobb," he breathed as he got close, "Cobb, we need to go."

The man took in both the Forger and Security's slightly rumpled appearances calmly. "Did you find anything?"

"We found a safe. According to Dev here, it should have the information we need. But," he glanced behind them, "we've also acquired a bit of a tail."

Arthur peered in the direction they'd come from. "I think I see them. Weren't you two supposed to remain unnoticed?"

"He has his own Security, Arthur," Eames argued tiredly, "and seeing as _we_ actually found something, of course they're on our tail. What about you? Find anything?" He smirked as Arthur glowered.

Cobb ignored them both. "Alright, let's go. Almost out of time anyway."

Without a word, the three men turned away from the crowd, striding casually but purposefully towards the only doors to the building. Devona followed, frustration increasing as she was repeatedly kept out of the scheme. She opened her mouth, meaning to address the Forger, before rethinking and speaking to Arthur.

"Where are we going now?"

His dark gaze seemed to weigh her for a moment, as if surprised that she was speaking to him. "I planned for a car outside, and we'll take that to a hotel. Once there, we'll get a room, and you three will go under again, to the final level." His voice was even and professional, not as idle as Cobb's and lacking the personality of Eames's.

"Don't we need that safe though?"

"Not really. Now that we know the information is in a safe, in the next level we just have to find the safe again, and we can unlock it there."

"But we still don't have a combination."

The young man glanced at Cobb and Eames. "We've got that worked out."

Still not fully understanding, Devona made to question him further, but they'd come to a sleek silver car parked at the curb.

"Keys?" Eames asked, Arthur's low glare being the only response. There was no way the Forger was going to drive.

Devona turned at a couple shouts behind them. A handful of projections had followed them out of the building. "Cobb-" she started, but he'd already seen them

"Get in!" he shouted, pulling something out of his pocket. A couple loud bangs split the air, and the projections scattered. The Extractor ducked into the car's passenger seat, Arthur already in the driver's side.

"Get in Devona!" Eames shouted, flinching as bullets pattered near them. He pulled out his own weapon and fired back.

"But I'm-" _supposed to be the Security_, she was trying to say, but the Forger was already pushing her into the car's open side door. She stumbled in the heels, but managed to scramble inside. A couple more shots sounded from outside, and then the out-of-breath Englishman was beside her again.

As soon as Eames shut the door, Arthur slammed on the gas. All passengers were knocked back by the force of the acceleration, but Devona could hear Cobb urging the Point Man to go faster.

She looked to the man at her side then, and recalled the feeling of his mouth against hers, hot and hungry – and just for show. "Why wouldn't you let me do anything back there?" she asked.

He turned to her, not saying anything for a moment, letting his dark, ocean-blue gaze provoke and unnerve. It was an oddly meaningful look, but Devona couldn't read the meaning. And then, quickly, he looked away. "We didn't have the time, and guns are quickest." He shrugged, still looking ahead.

What was making him so stiff, so awkward? The moment in the office earlier? He had instigated it, and it was just for show. The ferocity of that kiss, the commanding grip on her waist, the sensual scrape of his short beard against the soft skin of her cheek…all for show. She swallowed.

The car lurched then, and Eames's hand instinctively reached out to brace her against the whiplash. He twisted to look behind them, and something burst a hole through the back windshield, cracking the glass in a thousand places and making the car lurch dangerously again.

"They've found us," Eames muttered dryly, shifting his weight as the car swung around a corner.

More shots, another completely shattering the back window and finding it's way out the front windshield, a couple ricocheting off the sides of the vehicle. The car lurched and screeched and spun, Devona crouched awkwardly in the seat, her body pressed close against the leather. She bit her lip for a second, glancing at the three men in the car, who all seemed to be used to this kind of drama and endured it with clenched jaws, and then closed her eyes for a moment.

Eames jumped as the horn of a semi-truck blared suddenly behind them. He turned to carefully look out the space of the back window, and raised his brows. "The semi trick again, Dev?" He teased lightly, but she could see he was thankful something had disrupted the projections' attack.

"Works, doesn't it?" She challenged, and he smirked.

They were both flung into the backs of the front seats then as Arthur slammed the brakes. Eames grunted and Devona winced, a piece of glass from the shattered window catching her shoulder. She quickly tore it away, leaving only a fair-sized scratch, not bleeding too much. Ignoring it, she tumbled out of the car the same as the other men did. Arthur and Cobb were already jogging towards a tall, classy hotel building(it was Arthur's dream, after all) and Devona followed, stumbling slightly in the overly-high heels, the adrenaline and nerves not helping remotely.

"Here love," Eames assured from beside her, strong hands keeping her on her feet as they moved, "just take a breath." She didn't answer, just followed the Point Man and Extractor.

They got inside and Arthur immediately lead them up three floors and into a room he'd dreamed himself the key to. They entered, and he shut the door firmly, locking each of the multiple locks, before pausing and taking a breath. They all took advantage of the moment as a chance to breathe, basking in the silence for the short period of time it lasted.

"We all in one piece, then?" Eames's drawl was unsurprisingly the one to break the quiet, a casual grin on his handsome face.

"Time's almost up," Cobb said, glancing at his wristwatch, "Arthur?"

The young, dark-haired man nodded, pulling another PASIV from the small closet conveniently located to their left. "Places, everyone," he commanded, already adjusting the readings and doses of the machine.

Eames slouched into a nearby chair, hands folded politely to mock Arthur, and Cobb simply lowered himself to the floor, back resting against the wall. Devona glanced at the two of them for a moment, before delicately taking her position on the lone bed, lying on her side comfortably. The ridiculously chivalrous men had unanimously voted she would have the bed, and at this point, she wasn't going to argue too hard.

"Who's dream is this, again?" she asked softly, slightly embarrassed to have to ask.

There was silence for a moment, and then Cobb broke it with, "Eames's."

She glanced at the Forger but his eyes were closed, handsome face serene, body still.

Arthur approached both the Forger and the Extractor, carefully sliding the PASIV needle into their arms. Eames fidgeted slightly, but both took it without comment. Then the young, serious Point Man approached Devona. His touch was gentle and warm as he took her right arm, turning it over and feeling for the right place to inject the needle. He must've felt something – the tiny shiver, or the goose-bumps already on her skin – because he paused, dark eyes glancing up at her expressionlessly.

"No need to be nervous," he said quietly, just barely loud enough for her to hear. She nodded, not sure what to say. He smiled then, barely, but the most expression she'd ever seen him give. It was nice. "Despite how it may seem, we know what we're doing. This is easy." She nodded again, still not speaking, but believing him. Tenderly, he pushed the needle into her flesh. When it was ready, he added a gentle pat to her arm. "Trust us," he added, a slight, fleeting smile passing his young, handsome features again, before he turned back to the PASIV, the moment gone.

"Second and final level of the dream, on one…two…_three_."


	6. Pastries, Wine, and a Safe

**I sincerely apologize for the delay in updating, but things got busy and time got away from me. Actually, things are hardly any less busy right now, but that's how it goes, right? Plus I kept trying to do something with this chapter because it felt off, and like things were moving a bit too quickly, so I took some time to try and work on that - only to hardly get anywhere. But I've learned not to force myself when it comes to writing, so I'll let this be. This is also a longer chapter than any yet, so I hope that makes up for the time delay! Thanks again so much those of you that read, and especially those that review too! **

**Cheers!**

* * *

She was sitting on a bench overlooking water, in a lush, green park. The sun shone behind a handful of clouds, and the air was cool, with a faint salty scent to it. People walked down the path beside the water, chatting. It was more comfortable than any real place she'd ever seen. She spun the ring on her finger, feeling the grooves and design.

"Now this certainly isn't your average dream-layout," Eames commented from beside her. He was observing everything just as she was, and he seemed equally appreciative.

"It's perfect," she sighed softly, noticing the gentle crash of waves.

The Forger glanced over at her with a friendly smirk, but for once, didn't say anything. His dark eyes simply held hers for a moment, searching, and again it seemed as though he was on the verge of speaking.

"Okay," Cobb's voice broke into the moment, and Devona noticed him sitting on the other side of the Forger, "we need to just find and open that safe. Devona, any idea where it might be?"

She shook her head. "I doubt we'll be finding something as simple as an office here."

Cobb nodded. "Right. Well let's start looking then. Eames, seeing as you've studied the Mark, you stick with Dev again. I'll see what I can find myself."

"Are you sure?" The Englishman asked, "seeing as there's only three of us, and Security's bound to be tighter down here…"

"It'll be fine. Just meet me back here if you find something, okay?"

Eames nodded, although he was looking at Cobb strangely. "Fine. Come on, Dev," he got up then, walking away from the Extractor without a word.

Devona glanced over at Cobb for a moment, before hastily following the Forger. "Is everything all right?" she asked softly once they'd walked for a few steps.

The Englishman nodded but didn't answer. "Any idea where the safe might be?"

Devona took the hint. "Not one. I don't even know where we are," she was looking to Eames for an explanation, as it was his dream, but he didn't appear to notice.

"I've got an idea for how to make this simple," he said instead, turning towards a small shop he spotted. It was a pastry shop, warm and yeasty, with two middle-aged women behind the counter. "Hello there," Eames started with his winning grin. The women smiled and returned his greeting, and he continued, "I don't suppose either of you ladies would happen to know of a Mr. Campos around these parts?"

"Campos?" one of them echoed, "no, I'm afraid I've never heard of him."

"Me neither," the second one added, "sorry, dear."

Eames still smiled charmingly. "Oh, not a problem. Thank you so very much for your time."

"Anytime, sweetheart," the older of the two smiled, "but wouldn't you like a sweet cake for your girl there?"

Devona felt heat smother her face as she realized who the woman was speaking about. "Oh, I'm not-"

"I'd love one, but we really must be going," the man's hand was at the small of her back again, "Thank you both so much, and have a lovely day." His smile was brilliant as he raised his hand in farewell, leaving the shop. Devona caught a glimpse of the two women whispering to each other as they left. Something like jealousy simmered in her stomach.

"Well," the Englishman folded his arms as they came to a stop on the narrow street, "that answered at least one question."

"They're Irish," Devona muttered, recalling the women's accents, "we're in Ireland?"

Eames nodded. "Apparently," he noticed Devona's disbelieving shake of the head, "What?"

"Ireland, really? I've always wanted to go to Ireland. And that bench where we started, that was the most perfect place… You'd think we're in heaven. My heaven, anyway."

The Forger raised his brows and then grinned devilishly. "So your heaven includes me?" He laughed at the change in Devona's expression, but didn't say anything further.

"I don't see how that helps us," Devona finally snapped, "knowing where we are, I mean."

Eames shrugged, walking again, "Every little bit helps, love."

Devona followed quietly for a bit, studying the small city-scape and ocean on either side of them, trying to figure how so many things she'd thought of herself had become integrated in the Forger's dream, and where in the world they'd be looking for the safe. She began to play with the ring on her finger.

She jumped as calloused but gentle fingers engulfed her hand. Her head snapped up towards the Englishman, and found him smiling, not showing teeth, but it was warm and gentle nonetheless. His dark eyes were the color of the ocean just beside them, and the soft crash of the waves mimicked her heartbeat. He was..beautiful…

"Doesn't the Mark own some fancy restaurant chain?"

Devona had to pause and think for a moment, her fixation interrupted by his sudden question. "…uhm, yes, I think he does."

The Forger had looked away, finally, and was staring at a building down the small street from them. "The North Wind, isn't it?" he nodded towards the building.

Devona read the sign on its face, and nodded, answering quietly, "Yes, The North Wind."

"Seems like a good place to try, hm?" He smiled, causally pulling his hand from hers and sliding them both into his pockets, before sauntering towards the restaurant. Devona stared after him for only a heartbeat, her mind going a hundred different directions, before she followed at his side.

The inside of The North Wind was just as lavish as the dinner party and hotel had been, in accordance with the Mark's own taste for decoration. The place was gold with low-lights and sparkling crystal, the softest murmur in the air from the dining costumers.

A small, slight, pretty girl approached them, "Table for two?" she asked, in the same Irish dialect as the pasty-shop women had.

"Please," Eames returned professionally, and they followed the girl to a small table.

She turned to return to her post, and a young boy waiter appeared, "What would you like to drink?" he asked.

"Uhm," Eames thought for only a moment, "let's keep this simple: just a bottle of Malbec, please," he smiled politely.

"Right away, sir."

"Thank you," the Forger replied idly, as the boy hurried away. He leaned forward then, elbows resting on the table, hands clasped together, and his dark blue eyes studied the room carefully. "Do you think the safe could be here?"

"It's certainly possible," Devona replied, "but it's impossible to know where."

"I'm trying to remember if the Mark's file said anything particular about his restaurant…something that might point us in the right direction…" he mused for a moment, but didn't seem to be getting anywhere.

"And what is it you're after again?" she asked, slyly, she thought.

"Information."

Apparently he wasn't going to be caught off-guard.

"Information…" she prodded, studying the Forger intently. He wouldn't meet her eye.

"Secrets."

"Yes, I know that," she finally replied impatiently, "but what secrets? Affair, money things, blackmail…what?"

Eames finally returned her questions, his dark, bottomless gaze meeting hers. His brows were pulled back, giving him an unusually gentle, almost pained, look. "I don't know," he replied softly, "just whatever we can find."

Devona didn't believe him. Not for a second. But she let it go, again, and just pursed her lips in aggravation. "I still don't understand how we're supposed to open the safe," she finally said.

"Don't worry, Dev, it'll work when we need it."

"How?"

"It's a bit complicated-"

"Well we've clearly got the time, so explain."

"But we _haven't_ got the time," he chided lightly, "we need to find that safe first."

"Oh yes, and stopping in for a glass of wine is completely helping that cause!" she snapped, frustrated at all the unknowns in this scheme.

"Hey, hey," Eames muttered softly, raising a hand to quiet her, dark eyes mellow, "calm down, Dev."

"Why, Eames? We don't have any idea where that safe could be, we aren't any closer to finding out, and we've still got to extract whatever information you're sure is in there, and that I don't understand at all! And now we're having some _wine_? What is going on?"

"Shhh," Eames remained soft-spoken and calm, earnest eyes never leaving her face, "easy. Look around, Dev."

She stared at him for a moment, blood still simmering, before obliging. She surveyed the room casually. It had gone quiet, and each of the projections in the restaurant had turned to stare menacingly at the couple. Devona felt cold, feeling each stare individually.

"Eames…" she whispered.

"Easy," he said again, "easy. They've picked up on your fear is all. They notice something's not right, because you're making it _obvious_ that something's not right. Just talk to me, talk to me normally," he urged, "come on."

"Uhm, so, why are we stopping for wine?" she replied in a light, even, tone again.

"Just to have a look around," the Englishman returned, "you know, to see if there might be something in here."

"Is there?"

He half-smiled, "Do you see anything?"

"No."

"Exactly."

The other diners had returned to their business, and soft chatter filled the air again.

"So now what?"

"Now, we look in the places we can't see from here," the man got to his feet, then hesitated, glancing around. "Where's that boy with the wine?" He made a face, "Disappointing…" he muttered, before helping Devona to her feet. "Come along, love," he said cheerfully, and led her casually towards the kitchen.

"What do you expect to find in there?" Devona whispered.

"Anything," the Forger whispered back, "everything?"

He pushed through the double doors, Devona just behind, and began to observe their surroundings quickly, while continually moving through the kitchen. Devona followed nervously, looking around herself, but having a feeling they were not going to find what they hoped for.

"Eames," she said quietly, "I don't think-"

"Oy!" a man shouted from behind them, "what you two doin' in 'ere?"

"We're not-we're just leaving-" Devona tried to explain, but the man nearly knocked her over as he stepped into their path.

"Folk ain't supposed to be back here," he growled.

"Oh sorry," Eames apologized, confronting the alarmingly tall, beefy man, "are you the head chef?"

"If I am?" the man challenged, eyeing the Forger.

"I wanted to tell you that your service is atrocious. We've been waiting for our glasses of wine for nearly twenty minutes now. I feel we deserve a bottle on the house."

The much larger man raised an eyebrow, unmoved, "Do you, now? Well I think yeh can go an' drink 'orse piss instead."

"Well now that's awfully rude," Eames chided, "What kind of man would hire someone with a personality like yours?"

"Get outta my kitchen!" the man snapped, moving forward.

Eames edged back, pushing Devona behind him but still not shutting up, "Not Mr. Campos, I don't suppose? Ever heard of 'im?"

"Wha? How d'you..." the man caught himself, tightening up his big face and letting loose a sound entirely too much like a growl, "_S__ecurity!_" he barked, and Eames whirled.

"Now we go," he breathed, nudging Devona forward, and sprinting past. He gripped her arm, pulling her with him, and the two stumbled through the pristine kitchen, knocking over a variety of dishes and causing an even larger variety of swearing to sprout behind them.

"Eames, what-?" Devona tried to ask as they burst out the back door, into the alley. A gunshot cracked the air, and burst into the brick of the building beside them.

"Not yet," he answered breathlessly, dragging her with him again as he continued to sprint down the street, taking a couple random turns, gunshots and shouts following, and always making sure Devona kept pace with him.

Finally, they stumbled into a different park, this one with a swing set that a mother watched her two kids play on. They both panted, although not heavily, and Devona could hear her heart pounding in her ears. She kept turning, frantically studying every house and shadow, waiting for the projection-security to arrive. Out of nerves and habit, she began to turn her ring, itching to check it, but feeling such an action would show weakness, an inability to grasp reality. Or, in better terms at the moment, the unreality.

The Forger took her hand again, breaking her train of thought. "You alright?" He asked gently.

Devona nodded. "Where..they're not..?"

"No," he answered her incomplete question, "no they weren't able to follow us."

"Why the hell did you do that?" Devona asked, "Provoke the guy, I mean. Are you mad?"

Eames half-smiled, "Now the subconscious knows something's going on. It knows it's being breached, and therefore will be on higher security."

Devona stared, hoping for more. "And this helps us…?"

"Ah, exactly – the place where the security is tightest, _that_ will be where our prize lies. Do you see?"

Still, Devona stared at him, reminding herself to focus on the man's words, and not the movement of his lips, or the rise and fall of his chest as he caught his breath. "That seems like a pain in the ass."

The Forger laughed, loud and warm, "Oh you have no idea, darling. This whole job is one, big, pain in the ass," he still chuckled.

"This is ridiculous," she complained, rubbing her fingertips beneath her weary eyes. "How long have we still got?"

"Something like a couple hours, I'd think."

She nodded, staring at the mother and her kids. The fake mother and kids. Projections. Not real.

"Want to try the ferry?"

Devona was brought back by the Forger's question. She looked up at him, "The ferry?"

He looked away, and gestured towards a dock a little ways down the path, a fair-sized ferry lingering beside it. "I read that the Mark is quite the seaman. Maybe he'll be on there."

She nodded obediently. "Okay. Eames?"

"Hm?" he responded idly, intelligent eyes roving the land around them.

Devona opened her mouth, and found not one of ten different thoughts were verbalizing themselves. She hesitated, and he looked down at her expectantly, handsome and lovely and blood-boiling-ly sexy at the same time. She swallowed.

"How are we supposed to open that safe, whenever we do find it?"

The Forger thought for a moment in silence as they started towards the dock. "There's a chance that when we do get to it, the combination will be hidden somewhere nearby. Disguised, really. You know, such as the room number or telephone number or something. Then we just try that."

"And it works?"

He hesitated. "Theoretically, yes."

She smiled slightly. "And if it doesn't?"

"That, sweetheart, is a problem we'll do everything to avoid. Keep in mind a combination you would use though. I'll do the same. Sometimes the subconscious-es get a little blended, so, possibly – barely possibly – one of us will have the combination instead. Does that make sense?"

23-8-10. Devona thought for a moment, and found that while most of what he said made sense, the whole idea of stealing through dreams still was a little hard to fully grasp. Even though they were living it. So she nodded. "I think so."

"Don't fret, darling," he murmured, "we've got this all under control." His thumb caressed the back of her hand, before he gave a light squeeze and then let her go. Devona felt like she was reeling, flattered and nervous and confused - and suddenly remembering the touch of his lips against hers.

They got to the dock then, and Eames took charge, leading her onto the small boat without a word, not bothering with something as minor as tickets – none of it was real anyway. He glanced at the projections around them, his dark, intelligent eyes searching for something.

"Who're you looking for?" Devona asked, mimicking his roving gaze. Were the projections looking at them a little oddly, or was she just paranoid? She hadn't done anything, they shouldn't have any reason to attack.

"The Mark. This would all be much easier if we could just locate him, and then get to the safe…" he muttered a bit, suddenly seeming rushed and impatient. "Dev, we'll need to split up for a bit. There's too much ground to cover and not enough time."

"What do you need me to do?"

"Can you look around the lower levels? Look for the safe, and I'll look for the Mark up here. Meet me back right here in twenty minutes?"

She nodded, "Yeah, I can do that."

"Brilliant. And Dev?"

She had already started towards the stairway, and turned when he called her.

"Remember to keep in mind a combination, just in case. Once we start messing with that safe, the subconscious Security will be all over us."

23-8-10. "Right."

He nodded, a fleeting smile passing his handsome face, "Alright, go for it."

He turned his back to her then and melted into the crowd. She took a breath and started down the stairs.

The lower part of the ferry was low-lit and narrow, and the rhythm of the waves had Devona swaying in an attempt to keep her balance. Acidic nausea was steadily forming in the pit of her stomach. She swallowed.

Devona tried to focus, her mind swaying with the boat. A safe. She needed the safe. A safe with information that would destroy a man's entire life. Hesitation. Maybe the man deserved it? He was probably some filthy rich, bigot owner of a corporation that knowingly caused ruination to a dying third-world country. Probably. But either way, she reminded herself with a breath, Cobb wasn't offering her a life-saving sum of money to worry about the ethics of the job. She ran a hand across her eyes. All the training over the past couple weeks had worn her down. Whenever Eames let her go home, she would stay awake for hours, running over everything the Englishman had taught her that day, going to sleep no earlier than when the day turned. And when she did sleep, it was light and restless. She remembered an article she once read, that said a person dreams when they're getting their most restful sleep. It'd been difficult to remember any dreams for the past few days. She couldn't even be sure she'd had any.

The boat rocked and shook dangerously, shocking Devona out of her reverie. Panic came for a brief moment, until she remembered Eames telling her about the sensitivity in the levels. Something was happening with Arthur.

* * *

The Point Man had them under for only a couple of minutes when there came the unmistakable sound of a person fighting against a locked door. He drew his weapon, leveling it at the door to the room, and fired without hesitation once it started to open. The first of the projections dropped, but two more were waiting. They burst through the door and rushed the man, causing him to trip over the edge of a desk in his haste to back away. The smaller of the two men jumped on Arthur, grappling desperately with him, both rolling across the carpeted floor, grunting and struggling. The Point Man pulled his knees towards his chest, wedging his feet underneath his opponent's stomach, and then pressed up, his legs throwing the man off of him.

Arthur rolled over and scrambled for his gun, twisting back to aim at whichever projection was closer. A foot deflected his aim, cracking across his hands and knocking the weapon away again. He whirled towards the gun, scrambling hopelessly towards it, and was again kicked off his path, bumping first into Eames's chair, and then falling against the bed, causing it to shake.

* * *

The disturbance of her surroundings seemed to remind Devona of the clock that was continually ticking. She moved more quickly through the halls, trying every door she found. If they opened, she would scramble around the room, knocking things off shelves and out of closets in her suddenly desperate haste. She had less than ten minutes to get to Eames.

In a wide closet, she might have found something. Just a closet – she could see cleaning supplies through the small window in the door – and yet it was locked. Curious. She shoved her shoulder into the door, knowing it would do no good, but desperate. She shoved again, again.

"Devona? Do you need help with something?"

She whirled at the familiar voice, her shoulder throbbing. Disbelief and shock mixed as she took in the casual appearance of a tall, slight, kind-faced man, brown hair a little longer than was strictly professional, and graying at the temples. "Mr. Hammond?" she exclaimed stupidly.

He smiled his warm, slow smile. "I didn't know you were here. Did you just board?"

Devona didn't answer for a moment, her mind racing. If this was Eames's dream, what the hell was her boss doing in it? Vaguely, she remembered something the Forger had told her about unchecked subconscious-es being able to slip into other's dreams. It seemed to make sense for this situation.

"Uh, yes, actually," she replied lamely, trying to figure out how to get rid of the man.

"Do you need help with that door?" he asked, nodding towards the closet.

"Uhm," time was running short, "yes. I do. There's something I really, really need to get out of there. It's urgent." If her words sounded too acted, the projection-Hammond didn't notice. Instead he mimicked her movements, throwing his larger frame against the door, urging cracks and groans from it. 23-8-10.

"Hey!" a man's voice broke the air, "what are you doing? Get away from there!"

Devona turned in time to see a figure that was clearly security sprint towards them. Hours of days of training from Eames ran into one thought – gun. She reached into the jacket this cool-weathered dream had given her, and pulled out a glock. The approaching Security was ahead of her, as two shots broke into the heavy wood of the door, just missing Mr. Hammond. He cried out in surprise and dropped to the ground, shielding his head. But his meager defense was unnecessary, as Devona instinctively pulled her own trigger, abruptly dropping the projection. Mr. Hammond flinched at the shot, but looked up.

"Did you kill him?" he asked in disbelief.

Devona wasn't sure how to answer. She didn't, for a moment, as her hands roved over the fallen body. "He was going to kill us," she finally said, truthfully enough. Ah-ha. She pulled something from the projection's belt and showed it to Mr. Hammond with a smile. Keys. Quickly, she tried a couple in the lock, until finding the right one. She rushed into the small room, her hands immediately knocking aside, pulling items from shelves. Her twenty minutes had to nearly be up by now.

"What are you looking for?"

She paused, only then noticing the projection of Mr. Hammond hadn't left. How did she get rid of him? Eames had never taught her that – he'd counted on her being careful enough to keep her subconscious from slipping through. And she really didn't want to kill him. He was harmless enough.

"Do you see a safe?" she asked. The man didn't reply, but began to help her hunt. Devona had finally reached the point of panic, knowing Eames must be waiting for her, and there could only be so much time left on the PASIV. 23-8-10.

"Here," her ex-boss called, and she rushed to his side.

Sure enough, there it was – a safe, built into part of the wall, in the lower corner of the room. Mr. Hammond had moved a rusting file cabinet to find it. Devona took a breath, recalling what was to be found inside the locked compartment, knowing this was the pivotal moment of their entire plan, almost dreading what she could find.

23-8-10. She carefully spun the dial, felt the click, then turned the small handle and pulled. It opened more readily than she expected, and inside she merely found a thick envelope. She could feel Mr. Hammond watching as she pulled it out. It was hefty for just some papers. This Mr. Campos had some heavy secrets.

"Should I open it?" she asked idly, to herself, to Hammond, to the air.

"What's in there?" the projection asked.

She used the term Cobb, Arthur, and Eames always used – "Information." Secrets. The downfall of a man's life. She glanced at the faux Mr. Hammond. He had secrets. She remembered at least ten right at that moment. But weren't they mistakes, more than secrets? Isn't that how it is for everyone? Devona decided, turning her attention back to the envelope, that she didn't want to know this man's secrets. It wasn't her job here anyway. So instead she merely glanced inside the manilla envelope, making sure there was paper with words inside, and then shut the safe.

"Let's go."

As they hurried through the narrow halls, now and again being knocked off their feet from the force of the disturbed dream, Devona nervously noted the lack of subconscious Security. Eames had told her that the closer to the information they got, the thicker Security would become. Maybe because they were in _his_ mind and he knew their purpose, his Security was laying off. And yet something still felt off. Devona pushed the discomfort aside, allowing relief to win over as they finally made it to the upper deck. But the relief was short-lived. She was almost ten minutes late, and Eames was nowhere in sight.


	7. Mass of Unreality

**Wow, this is a painfully short chapter. I mean that literally. It pains me to post such an inadequate reward for you guys and your patience, especially after the fantastic reviews I've gotten. I kept/keep trying to add to this, but nothing is coming. I have the ending written already too, but I'm constantly analyzing that for any adjustments. I really do dearly apologize for this, but not only am I lacking imagination right now, but time as well. That's part of the reason this story ends come the next chapter. I hadn't planned on it being very long anyway...hope it's okay :/**

* * *

She spun, searching desperately through the thickening crowd. "Eames?" she called, and caught the glance of a couple projections. She gripped the envelope tighter. They started towards her and she whirled away. Mr. Hammond was just behind her, and she bumped into him, scaring a yelp out of herself.

"Sorry, Dev," he apologized, stepping aside.

She tossed him an aggravated glare, before sighing, "Come on," and pushing past him. "Eames?" she called again, tearing through the crowded ferry, doing her best to avoid the pursuing projections. A hand snatched at her elbow, pulling her off-balance for a moment.

"Hey! Lay off," she heard Mr. Hammond snap behind her, and then she was freed from the hold of the attacking projection.

Devona didn't take the time to thank the projection-Hammond, instead focusing on leading him away from the other projections, meanwhile searching for the missing Forger. The crowd on the ferry was even thicker now, pressing and difficult to move through. Wait – she whirled, thinking she caught sight of the Englishman in the reflection of a woman's hand mirror. He had been there, behind her, hadn't he? She paused, eyes roving the increasingly hostile crowd. Had he? She was only finding intimidating foreign faces and Mr. Hammond now. She was just too hopeful, too desperate. She sighed in frustration and turned forward again.

Someone shoved into her. More hands grabbed at her wrist, searching for the envelope. And then it was gone, taken from her. She pulled up short, immediately catching the eye of the thief. It was a tall dark-haired woman, and she glanced angrily at Devona before slipping between a couple men.

"No!" Devona yelped, not so worried about losing the information she'd worked so hard to get, but worried about what Eames would think if he found out she failed.

The Security shoved her way forward, roughly jostled by the irritated, thick crowd of projections. She only glimpsed the woman, before being nearly knocked over by one of the projections. A hand found her though, pulling her up by her arm and the back of her shirt. It was Mr. Hammond, and his considerably larger figure easily made space for her.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

She nodded, searching the crowd. "I need to find that woman," she breathed, already moving again. The crowd had dispersed now that the information was no longer in her hands, and she found herself faced with an alarmingly empty deck. Her heart was racing, despite the lack of obvious threat. Eames was going to kill her. If she ever found him.

"George," she said, turning to her ex-boss and demanding attention, "we _have_ to get that envelope back. We need to find that woman, and quickly. We'll need to split up, though."

He was already nodding, features serious. "Of course. I can check the upper deck, and you can check the lower again."

"Sounds good. Meet back here in ten minutes, at the most?"

Mr. Hammond nodded, and the two parted ways, quickly disappearing in their individual directions. Devona found herself in the same part of the ship where she had originally found the safe, and repeated her previous actions of trying each door she came to. A fair handful were passenger rooms, then a small leisure room, and a couple bathrooms. It was in one of the passenger rooms that she had success.

The tall woman was just putting down a phone when Devona opened the door. The two women froze for a moment, staring at each other as the surprise came and went. Then Devona lurched forward, grabbing the front of the projection's shirt and throwing her to the floor. The woman hissed, and swung a heeled-foot at Devona's leg, hard enough to cause her to stumble and her leg to numb for a moment. Not swayed in the least bit, desperate to get the envelope as quickly as possible, Devona fell onto the woman, wrenching the packet out of her hands, while throwing an elbow into her face.

Bone and bone hit brutally, and blood poured from the projection's mouth and nose. Devona stumbled up and away, hoping to race back to Hammond. The projection was furious though, and snatched at Devona's legs, pulling her down again. Ignoring the stinging of her flesh colliding with a small table and the hard floor, Devona rolled to her back and threw her own feet into the projection's face. The dark-haired head snapped back a couple times, until she lay still, not immobilized completely, but disoriented for the moment. Devona shot up, wincing from her throbbing and stinging body, but determined to get away from the projection, and hold on to the envelope.

She raced up the stairs, didn't see Hammond, and started towards the upper deck. Just a couple steps up, and she ran right into the tall man.

"You found her?" he asked.

Devona nodded, holding up the thick envelope. "Got it."

"Jesus, what happened?"

Devona looked down at herself. The projection's blood was smeared across her chest and spattered on her pants. "Doesn't matter. We've got the information. Now we need to find…" she didn't finish her sentence, searching the area around them instinctively. Nothing. No Forger.

She headed back down to the main deck, her eyes roving every face that passed. Faces that were growing closer. Again, the crowd of projections grew thick, angrier than they even were before. "Goddamn-" she growled, as hands grabbed at her again, pulling her around by her shirt, scratching at her hands.

Devona pushed and pulled away, moving faster. "Eames!" she was pleading now, desperate for his solid refuge. Refuge. Twisting out of the hold of yet another projection, she shoved through a door that was suddenly nearby.

It hadn't yet shut when Mr. Hammond burst through, just behind her. While his help with fending off projections was nice, Devona wasn't sure she welcomed his company. Would he turn hostile too? And how would she get rid of him, if it came to it? Projection or no, he'd been one of her closest companions for several years of her life, even if it was for a profession.

Devona paced the small room she'd spontaneously created. It was barely ten square feet and completely bare, not decorated in any way. But it served its purpose, as she latched a lock: a temporary safe-room. Room to breathe, and think, while the projections grew even angrier at her sudden intrusion on their world. The door rattled.

"What's going on out there?" Hammond asked, his handsome, placate features concerned.

"Nothing," she feebly answered, mind panicking at the lack of the Forger. They hadn't planned for his disappearance. They'd planned for everything to go smoothly. Stupid. "What's wrong with your hand?"

"Those people out there. They're crazy," Mr. Hammond was cradling his left hand in his right, and she could see a thick line of blood on the bottom of his palm.

"Will you be okay?"

"Fine, if we can get away from those lunatics out there."

"Working on it…"

"What are you doing, anyway?"

She paused, mind racing. "I'm waiting for someone."

The door rattled, thumped.

"Wouldn't it be easier to look for them instead? There are fifty different rooms on this thing."

Devona had to admit the older man opposite her had a point. She'd just created this room, added it to the original layout – how was he supposed to find her? She bit her lip, and jumped as something slammed against the door with a _thwack_. She froze, staring at the weakening wood of the door.

"I think we should get out of here," Mr. Hammond added, shifting.

Another _thwack_ and the door shuddered, the glint of a blade slipping through it's wood. The projections had procured an axe. They weren't going to give up.

"Okay, come on," Devona grabbed the man's jacket sleeve and pulled him behind her, through the back door she hastily added. The sound of splitting wood cracked behind her. They were even angrier. She needed to find Eames and get off the ferry before they tore her to pieces.

She and Hammond ran down the empty back hallway – empty because it didn't exist until she needed it to – all the while she called for the Forger. She turned towards some stairs, and rushed upwards, taking them two at a time. She yelped as a gunshot sounded and split a hole in the railing just behind them. Another two clipped the steps in front of her.

"Come on!" she yelled at Hammond, pushing him ahead of her and then stumbling over the top step, crashing onto her knees painfully. "God damn-"

"Dev?" She froze, ignoring the continual shots and splintering of wood around her, focusing on the hoarse, accented voice above her. She looked up, squinting in the bit of cold sunlight. "Dev, where've you- what- come on, come on," the man stumbled over his words, reaching down and pulling her to her feet. He held her arms for a moment, wide blue eyes roving quickly over her. "You alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," she ignored the stinging and throbbing in her shins. "Where the hell did you go?"

"I thought I found something…"

"What?"

"Doesn't matter now. You've got it?" He looked purposefully at the crumpled envelope in her hand.

"Uh, yeah. Little roughed up, but-"

"That's fine." He flinched again, a bullet making it's way into the wall behind him. "We need to get out of here. Those projections will be here any minute."

Devona merely nodded, unable to fathom her relief that the Forger was around again. He felt like sanity in this half-reality. She gripped his hand, more tightly than necessary and without a true purpose, just in hope to calm herself. He didn't appear to mind.

* * *

The Point Man scrambled to his feet again, and immediately launched himself at the nearest projection. They fell against the wall, and Arthur landed blow after blow across the man's head. Black and white sparks flashed in his own vision as the second projection hit him from behind, knocking him down. He rolled to his back, legs lashing out, and felled his opponent. Immediately, Arthur was on top of the man, crashing his fists against the projection's skull and face, ignoring the throbbing it left on his knuckles, desperate. Again, his second opponent pulled him away, and attempted to shove him into the side-table. Arthur stumbled a couple steps, but pushed away from the table, instead grabbing the lamp and whirling, crashing it into the side of the projection's head. The man fell and didn't get up.

Now it was one on one, and the final projection could tell the odds were not in his favour, despite the trickle of blood that crept from Arthur's hairline. But the men launched themselves at each other and grappled for a moment, twisting in a sick dance, until Arthur threw the man against the wall. The projection hit with a heavy thud, but took only a moment to regain his breath and then pulled out a long knife, flashing the silver menacingly. Arthur eyed it and stayed back for a moment, studying his options. The projection didn't give him time to think. He jumped at the young man, arm swiping the air viciously. Arthur ducked beneath the man's reach and shoved his shoulder into his opponent's stomach, feeling and hearing the satisfying loss of breath. He lifted up with his shoulders, and his slighter body only just lifted the bigger man and tossed him to the side, falling heavily to the ground. Arthur was immediately upon him – speed was his best defense – but he ran into the man's feet, which he had brought up to his chest. The man kicked, easily launching the slighter man a couple feet upwards and backwards, to crash against Eames's chair – tilting it precariously – and then land with a hefty bounce on the bed, tossing Devona up as well.

* * *

"Are you okay?" Devona then asked the Forger, as he led her and Hammond along the railing of the upper-deck of the ferry. "You just vanished."

"I'm fine. I was trying to find something, and some projections gave me a bit of a problem. They were tricky to get rid of. I'm just glad you're okay."

She hesitated a moment, trying to decide how to respond. "Where are we going?"

"Back downstairs. We can't get off this ferry until it docks again, so we've just got to keep leading the projections around. Speaking of.." he paused, finally focusing behind her. "Who is this?"

Devona turned, seeing Mr. Hammond. "Uh, this is my boss. Mr. Hammond."

Eames raised his brows. "Projection?"

Devona flushed. "I think so."

"Should we worry about him?"

"I don't think so. He's actually been pretty helpful so far." The Forger nodded, eyeing the projection carefully.

"Fair enough, then. So the information is in that envelope?"

"Yeah. It was in a safe, downstairs. Hammond helped me get to it," she added, as if that would make the Forger more trusting of her projection-boss.

"Good job," the Englishman smiled his small, tight-lipped, sweet smile, dark blue eyes reassuring. His handsome features sobered a bit then as he studied her, and lifted a hand to cradle her chin. Hot, electric sparks flooded her skin around where he touched. "Are you sure you're alright? You look worried."

He really could see straight through her.

"I'm alright. Just…losing you for a bit back there, I almost panicked.." she could feel a flush, embarrassed to be admitting she depended on him so greatly.

He smiled warmly, as if this was the answer he expected. He nudged her chin with his knuckles playfully. "No need to fret, darling. I wouldn't let you really lose me," he winked, grinning, charming and handsome.

She smiled nervously. "I was just over-"

Her sentence cut short, as the boat slammed to a stop like someone had hit the brakes on a speeding car. Each the Projection, the Englishman, and the Security felt the floor shift underneath them, and just when they might have regained balance, the boat jerked again. Their bodies were torn one direction, and immediately another, until they were tossed around the smooth floors, and harshly against the feeble railing. Railing that was too short and too weak, and gave way beneath their sudden weight, leaving nothing between each of them and the dark blue waves of ocean water.

* * *

**SansRegrets: Thank you so much for the message! I love your ideas and the possibilities that come out of them, and yet I already have something going on with the ring that will come to light in the final installment :) Hope it goes to your liking, cause I did love your suggestions, and wish I had integrated them sooner!**


	8. Deceiving DrEames

**Alright, here's to the longest chapter yet, and the final one. I hope some of you are surprised, and maybe some of you saw it all coming, whatever it is, I just hope you all have enjoyed the story and feel this ending fits :) Thank you all so very much for reading, and even more for taking the time to review. It means loads.**

**Cheers**

* * *

The water made her gag and spit as she gasped at the coldness of it. It spun her and turned her, churning like a giant toilet bowl. It was impossible to catch a glimpse of her companions in the mess of waves, and Devona was more concerned with staying upright anyway. Whether the water was black or blue or gray or green, she couldn't tell, as it was all of those colors and it stung and the cold bit and numbed her, and she couldn't find up. The thought of drowning flitted in her mind as she gagged on more water. What would happen? Vaguely, she remembered a mention from the Englishman about "limbo", but he hadn't seemed eager to elaborate. Coming from the Forger, that certainly wasn't a comforting reaction.

Her body jerked as she was finally thrown roughly onto the land, her legs scraping against the gravel, feet struggling to find a hold before the tide pulled out again. She was shoved by another wave and this time, her hands grabbed too, clawing forward in the sand, finally pulling her torso out of the cold water, exposing herself to the even colder air. The sky had completely clouded over.

Devona crawled forward another couple inches, her legs cold and tired and weakly working, her arms pulling most of her weight across the sand. She coughed up bitter salt water feebly, as more dripped from her hair.

"Eames?" she choked, wincing at the all-too-real burn the ocean water left in her lungs. She rolled over, coughing and spitting still. "_Eames?_" the name was a plead now, as she was desperate for her reality in this nightmare. "Ea-" she cut herself off as she turned and spotted him, lying on his stomach in the sand, one arm bent around his head and hiding his face, the waves washing up around him.

Her tired and cold limbs and aching insides were nothing compared to the panic that came with seeing the Forger so. She scrambled towards him, stumbling forward and toppling over on her first try, but making it to his side, shaking away water. "Eames?" she breathed, grabbing his sleeve and forcing him on to his back. He merely groaned softly, eyes not opening. Devona's mind raced for a solution and, hands shaking, she tore open the first couple buttons of his shirt, pressing her ear to his chest.

_…tha-dump…tha-dump….tha-dump…._ She sighed, but the relief was short lived. Now what? He was unconscious, surely at least as water-logged as she'd been. Frantic, she clasped her hands together and shoved them into his chest. Again. Again. Again. He arched upwards as he coughed and turned his head, water spilling from his lush lips.

"Eames! Eames, can you hear me? Come on, wake up," she shook him, gently, and he coughed up more water. His deep blue eyes finally, slowly blinked open.

"Dev? Are- Jesus, I feel like shit," he coughed again, rolled over, and spat, before slowly pushing himself into a sitting position. He looked as thought he felt a hundred times worse than she did. "Are you okay?" he asked hoarsely, voice thick from the salt water. "Devona? _Are you okay_?" he asked the question slowly, each word a sentence in itself.

She nodded. "Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. Are you-?"

"Water-logged, but breathing," he interrupted.

"Wait-" she froze, eyes roving frantically around the lonely grey breach. "Where's Mr. Hammond?" she asked softly, before suddenly shouting, "Mr. Hammond!" Devona scrambled up, her feet holding her shakily. "Mr. Hammond! George!" But he wasn't anywhere among that grey sand and black water. "Eames, Eames he's-"

"I know, Dev," he soothed, unsteadily on his own feet at that point.

"But he's- we can't just-.."

"He wasn't real Dev," the Englishman said softly, carefully reminding her, "He was just part of the dream. Remember?"

She nodded, slowly, calming herself. "Right..right, of course.." She took a shaky breath. "Sorry."

A slow, soft smile. "It happens. D'you still have that information?"

"Uh, yeah," she pulled the envelope from the inside of her dripping jacket. "But it's ruined. There's no point."

"Ruined? Devona, darling, this is a _dream_ – simple things like a little water cannot destroy our purpose. Water doesn't damage your thoughts, does it? Make them unreadable?"

"Well no, I guess-"

"And there we go." The Forger grinned, taking the suddenly stark-dry envelope from her hand. "Problem solved."

Devona half-smiled. "This is mad."

"Oh without a doubt," Eames agreed good naturedly, quickly tearing open the packet, pulling out the fair-sized bunch of papers, pictures, and letters. He flipped through them rapidly, dark eyes merely skimming.

"Is that what we were after?"

He nodded, although his handsome features did not appear victorious. "It most certainly is."

"And now we can go?"

"Now we just have to hold tight until the PASIV runs out."

"Oh," she paused, taking a moment to study the Englishman, breathing easier now and grateful to be near him, both of them in one piece. Wait. "What happened to your hand?"

His movements of flipping through the stolen information ceased, and he glanced quickly at the scratch along his left palm. He didn't answer.

Something cold and sickening crawled up Devona's spine. "Eames…tell me what happened to your palm."

"I got cut," the answer was short and vague and soft, hoarsely whispered. He had no problem looking at her, but his dark blue eyes were sympathetic, full of something she'd seen before but hadn't been able to identify or understand. It was guilt, something much like guilt.

"You…" she breathed, searching for the right words, a way to put her churning thoughts into sentences, "that wasn't Mr. Hammond."

"No."

"And that wasn't you."

"No."

"Was it a projection?"

"The version of me that you saw? Yes."

"You were Hammond."

A pause. "Yes."

A longer pause. "Why?"

Silence.

"_Eames…_"

"It was part of the job."

"Part of the job?" Devona echoed, staring disbelievingly. "To what end?"

"You couldn't-… It doesn't matter."

"Doesn't-..? Eames, what the _hell _is going on?" Her gaze was a glare now, dread creeping upon her, partnering with slow understanding. But the Forger wouldn't speak, merely stared back sympathetically. Devona snatched the papers from his hands.

"Dev, no-"

But she backed out of his feeble reach, her own eyes skimming the notes and pictures. Notes that didn't mention a Mr. Campos at all, but rather a Mr. George Hammond. Pictures that didn't show anything involving a stern man with dark blonde hair, but instead a tall gentleman with dark, graying hair. And, in one of the images, Devona saw her own face. On a couple of the papers, she saw her own name.

"No," she whispered, staring at the papers she'd helped steal, "you-..this can't-…" She was beginning to understand, and it horrified her. This information, these secrets that she'd helped obtain, none of it had to do with a Campos or Simcoe. It all involved Mr. Hammond, the man she'd worked for, a man who trusted her and treated her like a friend. Who, at one point, had treated her as something more than just a friend. And that, that mistake was even before her, printed and blatantly shown. Any wrong decision, any mistake that had ever occurred in her seven years of service, it was all evident in her hands.

Quickly, she pulled the thick ring from her finger and studied the inside. AWAKE. If it was Eames's dream, she shouldn't have been seeing the words. He didn't know what her ring said. She recalled the times she'd idly played with it in the dream, and how the Forger had always done something to distract her from it.

Devona looked slowly up at the Englishman, her hands trembling. "What does this mean, Eames?" His name was rancid in her mouth, adoration replaced with repulsion.

"Devona, I'm so sorry, it was just business-"

It was as if he'd slapped her. She closed her eyes, taking a breath. "I want you to tell me the truth. About everything."

"Dev, there's no point-"

"_Do it_," her tone did not leave room for arguing.

The Forger swallowed, dark blue eyes dulled and guilty. "The job Dom hired you for, it was a lie. We didn't need you for Security. We needed information from you. The same information we claimed you were helping us steal, we were actually stealing from you. Campos and Simcoe don't exist. We set up the plot and the actions, dropping hints into your subconscious so we could extract the necessary information."

"Hints?"

He shifted. "Things like telling you to think of secrets and where you would keep them, or a "back-up" combination, so that, in actuality, everything that you thought up, would be put into the dream, with your information, unknowing to you. Your own subconscious betrayed you."

"_You_ betrayed me, Eames," she whispered with venom, and he flinched.

"Dev, I didn't want to, you have to believe that. At first it was just business, but then it just didn't seem like a good idea-"

"I'm glad you fought so hard," she sneered, throwing the papers and pictures at his chest.

"Dev, darling, I couldn't-"

"_Don't_ call me 'darling'!" she snapped, growing more furious at the swimming sensation his voice and words still put in her stomach.

Sympathetic blue eyes pleaded with her. "Please, Devona-"

"Is this really your dream?" she interrupted.

He paused. "No."

"It's mine."

He nodded. "I just designed it and allowed my subconscious to populate it."

"Why did you design it like…like all of that," she gestured vaguely towards the direction they'd come from, "with that perfect scene on the bench and the bakery and the Irish women and…why? How did you know I'd like that?"

The Forger seemed to sink even further into himself, dropping her gaze for a moment and practically wilting. The pathetic, discouraged look was still alluring, on him. He slumped to the sandy ground and rubbed a hand across his eyes. "From your file."

Devona was quiet for a moment, recalling when she'd talked to him in the warehouse, just before going under. "My file." Her words were flat.

"Yes. I had a file on you, specifically so I could create a dream that would appeal the most to you. And so I..so I could convincingly become George Hammond."

"Why did you need to be George?"

"We needed you to be reminded of your relationship with him – both professionally and personally – so that your subconscious would instinctively make the information in the safe be about _him_."

"Then how in the hell did that projection of you show up?"

He paused, dark, troubled eyes gazing out across the even darker, restless ocean, a small smile touching his lips. "You were looking for me," he answered simply, "so 'I' showed up, behaving how your mind interpreted me."

"But when we got here on the beach, you were just you."

"The shock of falling off the boat and fighting to survive the water caused me to drop the Forgery. You stopped focusing on just me, and the projection vanished too."

"So now this is real, this is us?"

The Englishman nodded, before finally looking up at Devona again, his alluring, gorgeous features distressed. "I'm so sorry, Dev, I am. I didn't want to do this."

"But you did!" she exclaimed, frustrated and choking on betrayal. "You did! How could you? Now George's life is going to be _destroyed_, because of what _I_ supplied you with!"

"He'll never know it was you, Dev. You'll still be paid, and you can disappear if you want to-"

"But I _don't_ want to! I just don't want to ruin that man's life!"

"Devona, please, try to understand this-"

"What is there to understand, Eames? You're all thieves and liars, and now you've…I've…" she couldn't even find words now, her mind scrambled and emotions raging, limbs shaking with fury and shock.

"I know, love," the Forger murmured to her surprise, and his gentle hand reached up to grasp her own. "I know," he repeated, hoarse, accented voice soothing, and he was pulling her down.

Her legs collapsed and she dropped beside him, faint, unnoticed tears in her eyes, incoherent mutterings falling from her lips. She didn't want him touching her. She didn't want any of this to be happening.

"Dev, darling," he whispered, and he was pulling her a little closer, moving himself a little nearer. They were both still soaked, freezing, and both shaking from it. But his voice was warm and rich.

"I hate you," she whispered back, her voice trembling, "I hate that you did this."

Eames didn't reply, wanting to agree, wanting to take her into his arms and stop her shivering and make her forgive him. But he'd known it would come to this. So they sat in silence, both cold and trembling, Devona's body shaking through the Forger's. He shifted, carefully pulling her into him in an attempt to warm her, hoping she wouldn't turn him away. The exhausted woman did tolerate him, unable to help her freezing, shaking body's reaction to the slightly-warmer man: to press closer, closer, grasping for warmth away from the air. The dark blue ocean had turned black and hectic with the change in Devona's mood, and charcoal clouds rested ominously overhead, a steady wind whipping at them. It was miserable, but they had no choice but to wait. No, they did have a choice.

"Dev," Eames said softly, "I know a way to get you out of this, out of here." She didn't answer. "We can get back before the PASIV runs out, before Arthur and Cobb come too, and you can leave."

She pushed away from him as if only then remembering she was supposed to be angry at him, and automatically repulsed by it. She attempted to glare despite the incessant shivering. "And how does that ch-change anything?"

He paused, neither of them looking at each other. "It doesn't, Dev. Cobb will still take the information. I have it now, in my mind, and I have to give it to him."

"You don't _have_-" she started, turning to him, but his dark eyes stared back sympathetically. She stopped. "R-Right. _Business._"

"We have the PASIV specially s-set," he continued softly, ignoring the jump in his speech as the cold got to him, too, "so that Arthur, Cobb, and I will wake first, giving us time to disappear before you wake. We planned to leave y-you the money you'd been promised, and then leave to deliver the information." He paused. "You'd never see us again. You _w-will_ never see us again, no matter what happens from here."

"So what are you s-saying?" Devona asked impatiently, hiding her offense and hurt behind annoyance.

"I'm saying, I know a way that could get you back-k before the rest of us are supposed to wake, so you can be the one to disappear."

"…that's it?"

"I know it's n-not much sweetheart, but it's all I've got to offer. You can take your money and disappear, making-g you the one that has the last say. Take my meaning?"

Devona said nothing for a long moment, thinking over the Englishman's words. It was disturbingly frightening, the feeling of helplessness she found herself with. She couldn't change any of what had happened, or any of what was going to happen. She'd caused ruin to a man's life - unknowingly, yes, but it was her fault, and there was no way to go back. She was merely being offered the lesser of two evils.

"W-what's your idea?" she finally asked.

Eames hesitated, dark, earnest eyes boring into her. "You kill me," he started, "and when I wake, I'll g-give you a kick, jumping your wake-up."

"Couldn't I just k-k-kill myself?"

"Could you?" he asked quietly, not teasing, but knowing. Devona didn't answer. "H-here, I have a gun," he reached into his wet jacket and pulled out a .45, "All you have to do is sh-shoot me – just like we've practiced before – and when I wake, I'll knock you out of-f your chair. When you wake, I'll give you the money, and you c-can disappear. Okay?"

Devona stared at him, at his casually handsome features, hair damp, dark eyes soft and sad, lips full and alluring as ever. She loathed him. Loathed, and – unceasingly – adored. Another strong spasm-like-shiver shook her. "F-fine."

He handed her the gun silently. She took it, weighed it in her palm, and glanced at him. His gorgeous face showed nothing, only patience as she struggled to find the courage to pull the trigger. She lifted the weapon, attempting to level it at the Forger as her entire being trembled without ceasing, and took a breath. She knew it was all just a dream, all lies and betrayal, but once again, something stayed her hand.

"Devona," he whispered, his gentle voice seeping into her skin, shaking the slightest with the same chill that gripped her body, and he leaned closer, closing his larger hand around her own, around the gun. If she'd had difficulty pulling the trigger to start with, now it was impossible. His close proximity blinded and numbed her, the crashing of the waves seeming louder that it had been, the air not nearly as cool.

Then everything went silent and blank when his mouth touched hers.

Unlike their first kiss, which was spontaneous and hasty and showy, Devona _felt_ this one. She felt the soft press of his lush lips, the way they gently separated her own, stealing her breath and sharing his taste with her. She felt the tender caress of his palm against her neck, his fingers nestled into her hair, holding her against him. Heat emanated from his skin, from the chest that pressed against her, that she only now realized was bare, his shirt still open. She trembled convulsively against him, his strong, warm body a comfort. His breath was soft and warm, his lips so gentle and sweet, this kiss not ferocious or passionate, but tender and assuring.

His hand moved against hers, pulling the trigger.

Devona jumped at the sound and felt the impact of the bullet into the Englishman through their kiss. His lips were torn away, and a soft breath escaped from him, before he slumped over, to the grey sand. She stared. His eyes were half-open, lips parted, body resting on one shoulder, tilted upwards so his chest showed from the open shirt. A solid chest, sturdy and muscled, decorated with tattoos in a number of places. She wondered what they each could mean – and then turned away, sickened. She was enticed by a dead body.

Then it felt as though the ground dropped from beneath her and she was rushing down, falling, uncontrollably. She gasped and jumped, panicking at the sudden sensation. The world around her flashed and vanished, and she was briefly shown an immaculate, lavish hotel room – Arthur? – and then that flashed away too, until she blinked, and found herself beside a simple lawn chair, in a dark, grungy warehouse, the striking Forger kneeling over her.

He smiled softly, slightly, and offered a hand to help her from where she lay on the floor. She stood shakily, and looked down to see her chair had been tipped over, dumping her unceremoniously onto the floor.

"Sorry," the Englishman apologized, "but that was the simplest way to give you a kick."

She didn't answer, looking over at Arthur and Cobb, who both still lay on their own chairs, unmoving. "How long until they wake up?"

"A couple minutes. But once they realize we've gone, they'll be quick to get out too."

She eyed the Forger. "Will they know what happened?"

"Of course. They expected you'd find out somehow."

"D'you think they'll worry you'll take the information and sell it for yourself?"

He shook his head, smirking. "No. I may lie for a living, but I'm trustworthy enough." Devona didn't reply, and he sobered. "I am sorry, Devona," he said quietly, handsome features not so careless anymore. "Here," he moved towards the large duffel bag Cobb have arrived carrying. He dug into it, then pulled out a couple stacks of hundred dollar bills. He didn't hesitate to hold them out to her, but she was reluctant to claim them.

"It's your share, Dev. And some of mine. So you can get the hell away from here."

Slowly, she took the money. "You really want to get rid of me that bad?" she asked softly.

He stood up straight, slowly, dark, compassionate eyes unreadable, handsome features gentle. "You don't understand, Devona. Now matter how highly you think of your Mr. Hammond, when bad things happen to people like him, they know how to figure out how it happened. Even if they don't find you, our employer doesn't like loose ends. We're supposed to make you disappear anyway."

"Disappear..?"

He shook his head, knowing where her mind was going. "Not in that way. Cobb wouldn't let it come to that."

"Then why the rush to get me out of here at all?"

He half smiled, although it was more of a grimace. "Like I said – control. Which means you need to get out of here, now," his words were urgent, and he led her towards the exit with a light hand on her elbow, but his features were gentle. "I'm sorry, darling, sorry things went this way."

"Things were always going this way, Eames. What can you be sorry for?" she meant for – wanted – her words to be sharp, accusing. But they were a breathless whisper.

"It _was_ just business, Dev. And everyone knows business can never get personal. People begin to regret things." He smiled crookedly, emotionlessly, and almost idly, he reached out to trail his fingers down her cheek. Devona trembled unconsciously, and he smirked with mild feeling.

She remembered the hundred different encounters they'd had where a single touch or look from the handsome Englishman make her tremble or gave her that pathetic swimming feeling in her gut. She remembered all the easy, charming grins and loud laughs, the firm instructions and hours spent together teaching and being taught. And suddenly, she was mortified to be forced to leave.

Eames took a half-step back in surprise as the smaller woman pressed herself into him, her arms circling around his torso. His response, however, was immediate, as his arms closed around her shoulders and held her tight, taking a heavy breath as he felt every line of her body press into his own. She buried her face in his chest, inhaling every bit that was him, and neither of them thought about the inappropriateness of the scene. Eames kissed the woman's head, his own ridiculous emotions overwhelming him, and then he ducked down to press his lips against her cheek, against her mouth.

Devona put feeling into the kiss too this time, giving it more passion than the previous one. Her hands knotted in his shirt, and his cradled her face, holding her mouth to his. Again, his kiss closed the world out for her, whereas to him, every second seemed to last an hour. He loved the feel of her small, frail, innocent body against his bulkier frame; he loved the way she held her breath as they kissed; he loved the way she let his mouth guide hers. This was bad.

The Forger pulled back and broke their kiss. "You have to go, Dev. They'll be here any second." She nodded, staring up at him with those big, innocent blue eyes. He half-smiled sadly. "Try to forget me."

She started to nod again, then stopped, biting her lip to prevent her ridiculous emotions from overrunning her. Eames's gaze dropped to where her teeth pulled at the skin of her lower lip and he smirked slightly, before acting on the temptation he'd had every time he'd seen her make the action over the past two weeks. He kissed her again, hard and blinding and in a way that made sure she _wouldn't_ forget him. Although he'd do his damnedest to forget her. But he kissed her, passionate and brief, and then leaned his forehead against hers for a moment.

"If you ever need me, darling," he murmured against his own previous words and rational thought, "I'll be in Limerick," and then he nudged her away.

Devona stumbled away from him, disoriented by the kiss and trying to decide how his parting words made her feel, but knowing she had no time. She glanced at him again, relishing his casual, rugged handsomeness and charm, his warm, intelligent eyes and devilish, crooked-toothed smile, and hoarse, accented voice. Then she slipped out the door, turning him into just a memory in shadows behind her.

* * *

The devious Englishman had been staring at the exit door for less than a handful of seconds, when he heard movement behind him. He turned, in no hurry, and slid his hands into his pockets as he sauntered towards the awakening Dom Cobb and Arthur. His stance was careless and unkempt as always, but his handsome face was dark, troubled.

"Eames! What the _hell_?" Arthur snapped immediately, leaping to his feet and storming towards the Forger, "What did you tell her? And where is she? What the hell got into your head back there?"

"Oh, what does it matter, Arthur?" Eames drawled back, "She's gone. We've got our information."

"You can't just take things into your own hands like that, Eames! You screwed up the whole damn plan!"

"Oh shut it! Cobb's got his bloody information, alright? That's all that mattered anyway."

"That doesn't matter! What matters is that you completely went off on your own-"

"Eames is right, Arthur," Cobb intervened calmly, "our purpose was to get the information. As long as we have that, and Devona is sufficiently out of the picture, there's nothing to worry too much about. We're all alive, right?"

Arthur didn't answer, still glowering at the Forger.

When the Forger turned his dark eyes to the Extractor, however, there was a dangerous glint in their depths. "This was the worst fucking idea you could have come up with, Dominick. We're not doing it again, you hear? I'm out if you do." The Englishman's voice was low, rough, and menacing. Furious.

"Eames, it was just what we were hired to do-"

"I don't care!" he snapped, "I don't care. She didn't deserve that. We used her! She was totally innocent, and we made her seem like the villain."

"We've had to do things like that before. Why are you throwing a fit now?" The Point Man intruded, brows raised slightly on his passive face.

Eames only glanced at him with a snarl, "Piss off, Arthur. Cobb, from now on, we are our own Security, yeah?"

Cobb nodded, pale eyes studying the tense younger man. "You're right," he agreed, "We can protect ourselves better than anyone else can."

"Exactly. No more using people, Dom, for anything. Or you can find yourself a new Forger," he punctuated the remark with a firm clench of his jaw, eyes dark and hard as sapphires. The threat wasn't empty, as they all knew, and they also all knew he was the best at what he did. Cobb would be hard-pressed to find another Forger that could match Eames's skill. Whether because of that fact, Cobb would listen to the man's demands, or because it simply made sense, it didn't matter. Eames didn't care. He just knew Devona had left him sickened with guilt, a feeling he didn't often experience and certainly wasn't fond of. It made him angry.

"Where can we find you?" Cobb called, as Eames's feet had already carried him half out the door.

The Englishman paused, guilt briefly flooding his system again, "Mombassa."


End file.
